


Glitter and Gold

by fragglerooster (god_is_undead)



Series: Pillars of the State [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And the Council, And the Republic, Bureaucracy, But palpatine ain't going down easy, Byzantine Bureaucratic Fuckery, Courtroom Drama, Deconstruction, Don't Judge Me, Don't Like Don't Read, Dooku has THOUGHTs about Qui-Gon's death, Dooku has friends, Ethical Dilemmas, I Don't Even Know, In the immortal words of Ian Malcolm, Lawyers, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Moral Ambiguity, Nobody Gets Laid, Not A Fix-It, Original Character(s), Political Alliances, Political Expediency, Politics, Public Humiliation, Public Relations, Sadly, So Much Politics, Sorry Not Sorry, Sort Of, Weird Plot Shit, Why is nothing i write ever fun and happy, You're just making all new mistakes, and i do mean smiling emotional manipulation, as he cackles, but he will not chill, but that's like way far ahead, but was apparently drunk as hell, eventually a long term psychological shift, everybody needs a hug, everybody tries so hard, except palpatine he just needs to chill, god damn, i really don't know how to tag this fic - Freeform, i really should just write smut or something, i still suck at tagging, incredibly slow political manipulation, lord knows how sifo-dyas puts up with that boy, love bombing is a technique that cults use, no thank you he says, okay that was a paraphrasing, really questionable decisions, relatively happy ending, resurrected hard drive zombies, still failing at tagging, the Force works in mysterious ways, well a friend anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-06-20 17:29:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15539352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/god_is_undead/pseuds/fragglerooster
Summary: In the months after the conclusion of the Trade Federation’s embargo of Naboo, Count Dooku returns to Coruscant with a visitor in tow, with the intent to change the future.(I know. It’s been done before. Read this one too anyway.)Bit of a deconstructive take on “trying to change the ‘fictional timeline’ fic" but one that goes in for the long haul across generations.And because it’s me, HEAVY emphasis on the politics.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have…so much already going on, and I haven’t updated anything for a while. 
> 
> What’s one more? 
> 
> Alright so first of all, yes I’m still alive (WINNING). Second of all, I’m still working on everything else, I really am, plus basically a thesis paper and some original shit that if I can finish it I’ll try to publish. I’ll be moving in less than a month, and I’ll have to find a Real Job™. Honestly, I look forward to that. I miss working, and where I’m at now is pretty much like a hamster wheel. I’m looking forward to a new place. 
> 
> ONE WITH GODDAMN SEAFOOD FFFFFF.

“The deepest hatred grows out of broken love.”

—Georg Simmel, _On Individuality and Social Forms_

 

“The most likely legacy of civil war is civil war.”

—Paul Collier, _Wars, Guns, and Votes_ **

* * *

 

###

A ship emerged from hyperspace in the shadow of a Coruscanti nightscape: golden amber rings and radials traced into darkness, haloed by the system’s sun peeking over the planet’s curve. Dooku observed the familiar view impassively as the halyards loosened. While he waited for traffic control to respond to the automated hail, the sail furled back into its casements inside the skin of the ship.

The pilot droid beside him did not need to be told to open a line of communication when it was requested.

The official on the other end of the holo seemed somewhat glazed over with exhaustion judging by the way his prehensile ears drooped, but when he recognized Dooku, through the system if not by sight, he roused himself somewhat. On a planet of variably two trillion, a mere ten thousand still only made up an infinitesimal fraction of a percent.

“Master Jedi,” he said, by way of greeting.

Dooku had officially left the Order several months ago but had no wish to correct the controller if it meant delaying his mission. As far as they should be concerned, he was here on Jedi business—and he was, in fact, here on Jedi business.

The conversation was quick and perfunctory. Dooku requested, and received, priority clearance to enter atmosphere and dock in a sector that was almost within walking distance of the Jedi Temple, which was as good as the controller could do under the moment’s circumstances, and good enough for Dooku. They would need to swing around to the side of the planet bathed in sunlight.

With that accomplished he left the droid to its task and stood to inform the passenger to make ready for their impending arrival.

His ship was a small, personal yacht, purposed for the indulgence of a single individual. It was very fortunate, then, that the trip had been a quick one. Being in such close quarters for any great length of time with the girl would have been an almost unendurable ordeal.

He found her seated cross-legged on the deck beside the airlock, peering down through the deck-level viewport in the aft end of the ship. When he drew close she looked up at him. He saw that she was faintly green at the edges and was clutching a wine glass. By her knee was the bottle.

Dooku frowned in distaste. She _had_ been suspiciously quiet for the last hour.

“I only drank most of it,” she mumbled defensively.

“You should not have had any at all. We are about to land.”

Her scowl turned sullen. “I get vertigo really bad and alcohol makes it better. I’m literally about to throw up just looking at this, like, I mean, not that it’s not pretty, it’s just _—Hey!_ ”

Dooku had no intention of belaboring the point; as impulse control went she was little better than a child despite being several years older than his former Padawan’s Padawan. He simply took the bottle from her, annoyed twice over to find it was a good vintage. If the girl was a drunk, then she should have been a drunk with less expensive luck.

She started to get up.

“ _Give me that_ —”

He jerked it out of her grasp and she almost fell over when she reeled off balance. She righted herself and thumped down again—

“I brought no wine from Serenno,” he stated, curtly. “Where did you get this?”

She shut her mouth and stared right back at him narrowly, sour petulance on full display.

“You stole it.”

“I tactically acquired it,” she shot back.

“A meaningless semantic distinction.”

She shrugged unrepentantly and turned her eyes back to the rapidly receding darkness. As the the starscape lightened to a smooth blue, they began to feel the effects of the planet’s gravity, just slightly, within the ship. “Oh, I’m gonna be sick…” She took another long sip of wine and grimaced.

“Then perhaps you should not be drinking or looking out the viewport.” He leaned over and deftly plucked the wineglass from her hand. She scrambled up and after him.

“Hey! Give that back! At least let me finish it!”

“Absolutely not.”

“What are you going to do with it, then? Pour it out? You can’t just waste good wine like that. And you can’t put it back into the bottle. There’s backwash and everything. Here. Just let me finish the glass and you can have the—”

Dooku pivoted back to her. She stopped where she was and flinched away from him a little, snatching her hand back as if burned. He could sense her uncertainty. She was wondering whether she had pushed him too far.

Well, on both counts she was right, but for the sake of neither would he allow her to win.

She groaned as he poured the glass out in the ‘fresher’s sink. He started to pour out the bottle too, for lack of a stopper, but she grabbed up the cork and handed it to him. She went back to the viewport and curled her knees up under her chin, muttering.

“Jesus, I should call you Sherman or something, march to the sea…”

Judging by her tone, Dooku suspected she was not complimenting him, but if she meant for him to take note of what she had to say she ought not speak so...the only word he had to describe it was _provincially_. The galaxy was home to a vast number of peoples and planets, and not all of them shared even the basest commonality of experience, particularly at the edges of Wild Space and the Unknown Regions. He could not be expected to invest time and thought into every offhand remark he heard. 

The ship rattled with a little early atmospheric turbulence. The wild spike of terror and nausea that washed over her at the first strong jolt was surprising. He glanced back at her again as he put the wine bottle into the ice box.

She didn’t say a word, just kept her eyes on the atmospheric corona, and clutched the nearest edge with a white-knuckled grip. He considered saying something but chose not to; she was as likely to snap at him as thank him.

A particularly violent bump knocked her supine on the deck with a yelp, dazed and white as a sheet. How she managed that while sitting on the deck and he kept his feet so easily was anyone’s guess.

“Calm yourself,” he admonished. “Stop shouting. There is no need for such behavior. The ship is in no danger.”

The reaction was instantaneous. He felt as much as saw the sudden swell of anger that drowned all fear and hesitation. Her eyes narrowed to slits.

“There’s no need to be such a _condescending_ _asshole_.”

Dooku suppressed a sigh.

“Turbulence is a normal part of atmospheric entry. We are in no danger.”

“I feel like I’m a fish in a bag that’s been given to a little shit named Darla.”

Very well. If she wanted to behave with such callow impertinence, then let her. He did not need to debase himself.

“Will you be this obstinate when we go before the Jedi Council?” he asked, pointedly.

The change of topic startled her completely. “ _What?_ ”

“When we go before the Jedi Council, I expect that you will keep your word.”

She pushed herself up on her elbows. “What? What are you talking about? Of course I wi—”

“Younglings have better sense than you do. You’ve become intoxicated just before we land.” He pressed, “Will this behavior continue in front of the Council?” She would find he had been extremely indulgent thus far, compared to his reaction if she insisted on continuing this kind of foolish behavior.

“Does the phrase _liquid courage_ not translate? Because I…”

“Nonsense.”

Her eyes widened and she jerked her head back, strangely hurt. “ _Nonsense?_ ”

“Sit up.”

For a second, she didn’t move. She wanted to continue to argue.

But finally, with a huff, she did as she was told. She couldn’t quite hide the nervous seizing of her shoulders every time the ship shuddered and shook, but she kept her peace.

Dooku made his way forward again and returned to his seat.

Arriving on Coruscant appeared most like diving into the heart of a great beast, the individual ships in the skylanes more like a tangle of veins and capillaries coursing along in an inexorable rush. Dooku, while a capable pilot himself who had practically been raised on Coruscant, still preferred to allow a droid to handle such maneuvers.

The assigned landing platform, which was within sight of the Temple, was a raised gray square that grew gradually larger in the viewport until the ship swung around and leveled out. The ship trembled and roared, thrusters struggling against gravity to maintain a controlled descent.

With a final jolt, they landed. Dooku studied the horizon. The Federal District looked exactly the same. There was almost an unreal, eternal quality to it: the spires of the Temple and the vast mushroom of the Senate Building, the skylanes flowing like aortic currents below and above. Their shades flicked fleetingly across the bow of his ship under a cloudless blue sky.

 _I was not sure I would ever return to this planet_.

True, there had always been the possibility. The corruption of the Republic had long been a cancerous weight on his mind, and the path he had started down after Qui-Gon’s death seemed likely to bring him back in some capacity.

He had never anticipated it would be under these circumstances. Something in Dooku felt sick at the knowledge that he had been so easily ensnared by the Chancellor's words, how he had been encouraged...

The fact was, the things Palpatine spoke of, the suffering endured across the galaxy, it was  _real—_ And yet...

And yet Palpatine would only use that to his own advantage to create untold multiplications of the same in the name of his own sanctification.

 _So you are returning to the Council, which you know to be corrupt and ineffectual_. He wondered, briefly,whether if by this act he truly was the idealist they said he was; if it was romantic in any way to imagine that balance not be used as an excuse for senseless sacrifice and the perpetuation of suffering merely so that glittering Senators in their halls could smile over the status quo that did so well for them, he would take it for the compliment they had not intended it to be. But where else to turn to? In spite of everything, some part of him hoped that the Council was not so far gone it could not act in the face of a clear and present threat.

Dooku’s expression tightened for a moment. He was out of time for the moment and he was no closer to consensus with himself. He stood again as the airlock hissed open, and cool fresh air washed through the interior of his ship.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you not see the politics SO MUCH POLITICS tag? Maybe I should add another one: my favorite self-indulgence, tiny little details.

“Can I ask a question?”

An airbus swept past; she flinched, and went ahead before he replied. Her sudden question almost caught him off guard; he’d been lost in thought.

“Does the Republic not use passports between planets?” She spoke a bit loudly, to overcome the rush of wind and faint howl of traffic as they stood on the suspended landing platform. It was chilly up here, and the air smelled of ion engine and exhaust. “We just waltzed in here.”

 _Stars grant me the patience_. He didn’t know precisely what a passport was, but he could work out a general idea. He interpreted her words to mean that she was asking whether or not movement between systems was necessarily free and open across borders, or whether it required official papers of some kind.

In being asked, Dooku realized he’d rarely thought much about it over the course of his life. Jedi were customarily given the right of uninhibited travel and discretion. No Senator wanted to explain why their government made it difficult for the Jedi to investigate; Dooku's knowledge as far as civilian practice, therefore, was mainly theoretical. It hadn’t occurred to him to question his admission into Coruscanti airspace.

“Ordinarily yes, one would be required to show proof of identification when we emerged from hyperspace over Coruscant,” he agreed. “But this is Jedi business.”

“Right. Okay. Jedi business gets a pass. That sounds like a super easily-exploited loophole.”

He considered briefly whether to simply ignore her. By now he knew what that prickly tone portended, and she still had most of a bottle of wine in her.

Perhaps against his better instincts Dooku decided to indulge her in the time they had left until the Council’s representatives and their transport arrived. Conversation, trite as it was, seemed to be doing some good to her nerves and he preferred her interrogations to her tantrums. If he didn’t do something, she would continue to stare with a terrified-skeptical look on her face at the empty space around, above, and below them. She was vaguely nauseous.

Still, it wasn’t much of a choice.

He hoped that their transport arrived soon. Dooku had not given the Order much prior warning and their representatives were not able to meet him at the landing platform, nor had Sifo-Dyas responded when Dooku had tried to contact him.

“How do you mean?”

“I mean that anyone who comes out of hyperspace over Coruscant could just _say_ they’re on Jedi business, and get a free pass.”

“It is not so simple,” Dooku replied, crisply.

He didn’t elaborate, though she gave him a moment.

“But you just told them who you were and what you were doing and they let you go, no questions asked. I heard you. You didn’t even mention _me_. Do they not care that you’re bringing along a plus one who might be infected with space rabies? What if _I_ told them _I_ was on Jedi business? Does everyone riding with a Jedi just get a free pass, too?”

“You would not be granted confirmation to land.”

“But why not? How do they know the difference between me and you? How do they know who you are?”

“Because you are not a former member of the Jedi Order,” he said, allowing a warning edge to creep into his voice that indicated his aggravation. “You do not even have proper identification, let alone identification affiliating you with the Jedi. It is possible that you could have found some illicit means of transportation and avoided such concerns, and that is the only means by which you could have made it to the surface.” He didn’t think she would have made it very far by going that route, however. She was no criminal mastermind. In attempting to arrange a transport, she was more likely to be sold as a slave to the Hutts or the syndicates.

She wore her dissatisfaction plainly on her face.

“Would I, I mean _me_ , just me or some other random schmuck off the street, not a former member of the Jedi Order, be able to see the Jedi Council myself, if I showed up and asked?”

“Certainly not.” If the Council met with everyone who had a passing interest in such things they all could live twice as long as Master Yoda and expire never having accomplished a single solitary thing. 

“What would happen instead? Would I end up in jail?”

“Arriving over Coruscant, you would be detained until your identification could be verified, and only if you were found to be attempting to land on Coruscant under false pretenses would you be put in prison. Otherwise you would be turned away. Assuming your intent was genuine, you would then need to petition the Order for aid, or in your case an audience with a lower-level board. If you came without proper identification, you would either be turned away or would need to petition Coruscant Immigration, and tell them that you were here to petition the Jedi Order.”

"Non-Jedi gatekeeping Jedi business?"

"It is unheard of that you would be turned away."

“… _Wow_. I’m going to stick with what I could understand of that, because…um, wow. How does anyone verify that or make the call? So uh, what happens if a Jedi isn’t believed when he says he’s a Jedi? And—assuming I got here with proper identification, after all that trouble and spending a night in jail because _of course_ I’m spending a night in jail and deal with bureaucrats, I’m still not even—I have to petition the Order? How does that work? I don’t _talk_ to anyone? It’s all done through paperwork? If I'm just an ordinary person, not a Senator or something?”

“You would submit a petition. The Order would consider your request.”

“How does that happen? How long would that take? And, uh…is there like a time limit on how long I have to do this petition, or is there a whole bunch of people on Coruscant who successfully convinced someone like ten years ago they were here to petition the Jedi and just stuck around and got lost in the haystack?”

He decided to ignore her third question; while absolutely legitimate, _that_ constituted a difficult and complicated ongoing struggle, one of many complaints about byzantine bureaucracy and legal loopholes and abuse for good and bad reasons, which he did not want to exhaust himself attempting to lay out for her. He took issue with it, himself, this inefficient bloat...

“That depends upon the individual case. In cases of great need, it can take a matter of days for the Order to make a decision; generally, some weeks or months. If no decision can be made the issue is referred to a senior panel, and in rare cases to the Council itself. There are many more crises in the galaxy than the Jedi have the numbers to take on, it is necessary to prioritize which of them are most important.” He was giving the official answer—half of it. The Jedi chose cases based on, so they said, the intent to keep peace throughout the galaxy. The reality was that they picked cases based upon what did not derail a chassis of increasingly sensitive and compromised compromises and exceptions, which on the face of it could claim the nature of peace because no one used the word _war_.

“How does the actual petition work? Do I go in in person and beg on my knees or do I turn in a bunch of paperwork and hope an anonymous panel is sympathetic?”

Even if he had not had the Force, upset was written all over the pinched look on her face and the increasingly snide tone of her voice and turn of phrase. 

“So—hypothetically, If I’d come alone to Coruscant—If I hadn’t ended up on Serenno where I did, and I just…came to Coruscant to warn the Jedi about Palpatine, just me, assuming I even got on the planet in one piece, I’d have to go through that whole process? Seriously, does Coruscant offer visas filed under ‘waiting on red tape?’ Like…how does that work? And uh, who files these petitions—like, do the Jedi have a whole army of people whose job it is to go through them? While people just chill out and die? Does it cost anything? Is it objective? How do you know it’s objective? Is it easier to get things moving if you know someone on the inside?”

Dooku didn’t answer at first. His first instinct was to tell her _yes_ , as a common individual, she would have been asked to submit a petition in writing but that it would necessarily proceed from there that it would be processed successfully (the first time, having made no mistakes and assuming no further clarification was asked for) and she would be granted the customary audience with a panel of senior Jedi who no longer went on missions but had the authority and the acumen to make judgements on such requests, and whether they were worthy. He wanted to say that _yes_ , her claims would be recognized as true and genuine and that they would be acted upon.

A petition like hers was more likely to have been glanced at cursorily by the first person who got a look at it and then tossed upon the pile of hoaxes and nonsense which the petition system was intended to filter away. It would be seen as part of the detritus that floated in onthe tides of would-be clairvoyants and genuinely mentally ill of the galaxy.

And there were _many_ of those among its quintillions.

After all, who would believe it: a young woman claiming to be from another universe entirely, in possession of knowledge of their future, gleaned from the equivalent of holo-soap operas? Auguries of war and fragility, claims that the Republic which had stood strong for a thousand years would fall within twenty more, and the Jedi to vanish with it. The location and identity of the prophesied Chosen One, who would eventually fall to the manipulations of one Darth Sidious, and cut them all down using the Republic's own army. Perhaps the Council might have been ready to swallow the report of a Sith Lord abroad in the galaxy or in some dank hole after events on Naboo, but certainly not a Sith Lord in the person of the Chancellor of the Republic, right under their noses...

 _Dooku’s own corruption and eventual death_ …

If he had been reading that proposal, sterilized and packaged on a datapad, he was sure that he would have tossed it aside, secure in the surety that the suppliant was out of their mind. There were too many actual crises in progress to take a wild tale like that seriously.

Who knew: perhaps the Chancellor even had spies placed in the Temple staff sourced from the surrounding population, and her claim would have been traced back to her, helpless and vulnerable—and she would never get the chance to file an appeal.

Dooku had known Senator Palpatine for many years, before his election to the Chancellorship; he was not through sorting out his thoughts on that, either. Their relationship had been warm, beyond the strictest definition of professional. In fact he had spoken with Palpatine just before his departure from the Order.

This was not yet the time to think about these things. 

Having discussed so many of his thoughts on the Republic with Palpatine and taken his input to heart, Dooku was not sure he could completely trust his own thoughts without first speaking with those who might be able to help him sort them out. On some level, the fact that he was even here was a return to type, when another harborage had failed him...

“All is as the Force wills it.”

“You mean I’d be fucked,” she snorted, oblivious to his personal turmoil. “That’s what you're thinking, isn't it? I bet you're right, too. It’s no wonder they completely hand-waved everything. Hey, that would make for an exciting movie, wouldn’t it? _Red Tape: A_ Star Wars _Story_. I don’t remember anyone talking about this stuff…Or maybe it's that I haven't got any personal phone numbers. Must be nice to be able to make your personal problems matter more than someone else's. You know, I read somewhere once that the chance that Henry the Eighth would actually have you executed went way down if you could get to talk to him face-to-face.

"I mean, okay, a bad divorce would most likely have a worse effect on the economy if it's a King and not a peasant, but if they don't both have the same baseline for deciding how relevant...”

Dooku could not decide whether to continue the conversation, reiterate his wish that she mind her manners, or address her impolitic reference. It scratched unpleasantly at a corner of his mind to be so trivialized, and while it appeared to be more a product of her habitual, flippant gaucherie than any real intent to offend, that did not erase its effects. He cleared his throat and made sure she saw his displeased gaze. She settled. A flush spread across her cheeks as she trailed off from her semi-nonsensical, bleary rambling.

“You are here for a reason.” He believed that, though the stars knew he was at a loss for what it could be. Was there not someone with a more pleasant, tactful disposition whom the Force could have selected?

She was quiet for a moment.

“Well, I hope you’re right, whatever it is.”

Before he could respond, the tell-tale whine of an ion engine swept over them, and a small transport descended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dooku is my favorite Sith, and one of the things I reeeeeally want to do in this fic is talk about his ideas on politics. I know that this fic is kind of fated to go down certain plot avenues--but one of the themes I want to talk about is the wider effects these changes would have on the people, and I don't think all of them would circle around the OC.
> 
> There’s an important distinction here that Dooku just kind of breezes past: that of custom and that of law. The former is just what you do because basically, it’s courteous and generally considered to be the ethically upstanding thing to do, for reasons that require a rather long explanation for why they exist and often boil down to "it's always been done that way and it's a tradition." Basically, good manners or a show of acceptable ethical behavior. The other is an actual legal statute. Sometimes a custom is so normalized that people confuse it for a legal statute, but they're not the same thing.
> 
> The chapter after this is shaking out to be long as hell. Shit. Well, that's what I get for actually making a plan lol.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly better edited than the previous brief iteration, I think.
> 
> On a side note, I'm feeling better and more positive than I have for a while. I have figured out the next stage of We Who Endure, so either that or this fic will likely be updated next.

Dooku stood in the center of the Jedi Council Chamber just as he had on the day he left the Order: in silence.

They had asked him—why did he desire to leave the Order? What was it that drove him away?

What answers could he possibly give that had not been made plain every time he had voiced his concerns as a Jedi, then in his brief tenure as Councilmember? Had they forgotten all he had said about the lives the Council used and sacrificed like pawns in a game of holochess? The loss of Qui-Gon Jinn to that morass was the last straw, but surely, his actions could not have come as a surprise—or else they were truly blind. And now _the Sith had returned_ —

What more needed to be said? Would speaking at that moment have accomplished one iota more than at any other time?

Distance and a little time had eased the worst of his immediate outrage, but…well.

He did not stir; he stood tall, unmoved and unmoving. He did not speak.

And neither, for once, did the girl. She remained utterly paralyzed, hovering close by his elbow, almost trembling. She had been thus reduced as soon as the wide halls of the Jedi Temple had enveloped them and they had been escorted straightaway to the highest room of the central tower.

The members of the Council regarded them both with grave, statuesque solemnity.

“Returned to us after a long absence, you have,” Master Yoda said. “It is good to see my old Padawan.” Dooku could sense genuine warmth behind those words.

“For what reason have you returned, Master Dooku,” Mace Windu asked, his fingers steepled in a posture of intent observation. “We were under the impression that you had returned to your home planet, to reclaim your title and position as Count of Serenno. Since then we have heard very little of you.”

It was not untrue that Windu’s word choice and tone was not precisely welcoming, it might even be interpreted as a little critical. Dooku had anticipated that the Council might be somewhat standoffish given the character of his departure and he was prepared for that—and in any case, the question was legitimate and Master Windu’s curiosity justified. He heard the girl cough, faintly.

“It is true that after I left the Order, I returned to my planet of origin and reclaimed my birthright. For the last seven months, I have been a Count of Serenno.

“Now I have come back to Coruscant to bring before the Council a matter of paramount importance—a spectral menace which if allowed to develop will wreak unimaginable destruction. It will transcend our lifetimes, affect the lives and livelihood of all living beings, and change the face of the galaxy, forever. It will see the Jedi Order destroyed, and the galaxy bent to the whims of a dictator—”

The girl jumped when he turned to her sharply, his heel squeaking faintly on the polished stone floor—

“Speak, Brianne. Tell the Council what it is that you have told me.”

For several seconds he said all of nothing and just gaped at him stupidly, mouth slightly ajar.  

“I…I don’t know what to talk about...I mean…I don’t know where to start—There’s a lot of ground to cover…what should I talk about?”

“On Naboo, Master Jinn and Knight Kenobi encountered a Sith Lord.”

 “You want me to talk about Darth Maul?”

Dooku was far too principled to sigh loudly, or shut his eyes and count to ten.

“Uh…yeah, Darth Maul. Um. He’s a Sith Lord. That-That’s his name. Did…was that…a thing you guys already knew, or…”

There was another long, awkward silence.

“There are always two.” Why was _this_ turning out to be more impossible than squeezing blood out of a stone? He prodded, a trifle sharply: “Which was he—the Master or the Apprentice?”

She exclaimed, “I _told_ you which one he was! He was the Apprentice! Well—okay yeah, _was_ still makes sense because—”

“Then who is the Master?”

“Darth Sidious. _Palpatine_.” She was still staring directly back at him, with a kind of fixed, nettled desperation.

“Palpatine,” Mace Windu interrupted, watching Dooku instead of her, surprised and serious. “Surely you don’t mean Chancellor Palpatine? You mean to accuse the Chancellor of the Republic of being a Sith Lord? You must have some proof beyond the mere accusation of one woman?”

Hearing that, the girl jerked her head around and looked back at Windu.

 “Uh…well, he _is_ , so…”

 “Impossible. The Jedi would have sensed the presence of a Sith Lord long before he rose to the highest office in the galaxy.”

She frowned stubbornly. “Well…um, how sure are you exactly that you would _for sure definitely_ be able to sense a Sith Lord?”

Windu stared at her with steady conviction. “ _Very_.”

She lifted her chin. She didn’t want to argue. What she wanted to do was run or hide under his cape in embarrassment and sheer fraying nerves, but she planted her feet and glared at Mace Windu.

“Well, when he gets y’all into a corner, you’re going to remember this conversation, and you can remember I said _I told you so_.”

There was utter silence in the Council Chamber. _The stars help us_ …

“What Brianne is trying so artlessly to say is that there is a limited window of opportunity to destroy this threat, and ignoring it will not cause it to vanish. Rather, it will be allowed to reach a point of no return.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him sharply, anger simmering in her eyes. It surprised him a little when she reined in her spiteful temper with a grimace, turned back, and canted her head towards him.

“What he said.”

“Calamitous, if true, these accusations are,” Yoda remarked thoughtfully. Dooku listened and wondered what was going on in his head, aside from all-to-obvious observations; his Master had ever been cryptic, withholding comment until due consideration.

She raised her eyebrow and shrugged, glancing back at Dooku again.

This was not at all going how he had anticipated, or rather, hoped. Dooku could not help but feel a sort of embittered disappointment.

Worse, it was self-directed, in a way: he had known that this was all but to be expected after so many years of disinterest and dismissal. It was never going to be easy, but he had never had his concerns so bluntly disregarded.

 _More the fool I_.

He had believed her quickly on Serenno.

But then, on Serenno, she had held nothing back. She had answered every question, told him everything at length, practically whirled and down byzantine avenues of names and events until his head hurt. Her thoughts and voice had come together, weaving a tale with her Force-presence that chilled him to the bone.

 “Listen,” the girl said suddenly, focusing on looking Windu directly in the eye as she gathered her nerve. She clung to his calm as if to a rock in a storm. When she spoke again she was more measured, with a deliberate precision. “Please, just hear me out. I…I-I get that you don’t believe me. I understand that. It sounds _insane_. Dooku was telling me earlier that this all normally wouldn’t get anywhere near your doorstep, that usually you guys have a bullshit filter, and I can see why this wouldn’t get past that, but…I don’t…I do not know what I can do to convince you that this isn’t some elaborate scheme, but I…I am willing to do whatever…whatever y’all find necessary to show you that what I am telling you is the truth. I will meet your expectations. I am telling the truth, so…I’m not worried about _that_.

“If you do not at least _try_ , if you insist that what I say can’t be true, without even doing anything to verify it, or if you say that you are _incapable_ of being tricked, even though I’m here with…with someone you…you, um, still trust, then…you are more vulnerable than you ever were. Somebody is going to take advantage of that self-assurance, because they know you won’t look twice or…too hard.” Her voice wavered apprehensively. In the silence that followed, she cringed and looked away from Windu, who still gazed at her. She glanced back at Dooku again, pleading.

Dooku turned his gaze to Master Windu, then Master Yoda.

“She speaks the truth,” Dooku announced, his voice ringing through the Council Chamber to an audience profoundly silent and arrested, their eyes on him again. “You may say that it is impossible that the Jedi could have missed a Sith Lord as Chancellor, that you would have sensed his presence long before now.

“The Dark Side has clouded the Jedi’s vision. Attachment to the dogma which binds the Jedi to the strictures of this Order and complacency toward the comfortable familiarity and constancy of the Senate has led the Order to believe, mistakenly, that it can never _be_ misled simply because it has never been accomplished before. We have been lulled into believing that the appearance of balance can substitute for true strength and security, and that the rules themselves protect us.

“But it is true. Hundreds of Senators are even now falling under the influence of the Sith Lord called Darth Sidious, who began life as Sheev Palpatine of Naboo, and who now sits as Chancellor of the Republic. His acclaim grows daily, and so too the number of his supporters.

“In the coming years, he will gradually bend those around him in the bureaucracy to his views using events he will premeditatively cause, events which will serve as no more than the foundations of their culminating belief that only _he_ has the wisdom and capability to rule over them as Emperor, having superceded the Senate, whom he will eventually dissolve, and having totally discredited and destroyed the Jedi.

“Were it not for having found myself in his position I, too, would soon have become ensnared and fallen to the level of Sith Apprentice, to be used and ultimately discarded for Sidious’ purpose.” He did not like that particular visual, seen through her memories. A muted, but distinctly startled ripple shot through the assembled Councilmembers. “It is often in our moments of greatest security that we find ourselves most vulnerable, too sure of our own strengths and heedless of our weaknesses.

“There are those who see the Jedi as the cause of their suffering, their oppressors by proxy. Galactic somnambulance is maintained only by enforcement of its quiescence, and the loss of lives to endless sacrifice in the name of those who currently occupy the halls of power. _This is unsustainable!_ All that is required to upend such fragile inequity is someone who can imagine how it could be different, and to turn those grievances to their own purpose—one such individual is in the person of the Chancellor of the Republic, who is a Sith Lord. If he is allowed to succeed, the actions of the Jedi will be laid at their doorstep and judged—intent will not matter. Perspective will.”

For ten full seconds, there was silence. His speech touched on old arguments he had had with these same individuals, though he left just as much by the wayside, if only for now. He could see the shadow of stiffness pass over a handful of faces; others were less expressive. Finally, the girl stirred in place.

“If you still don’t believe me, or him,” she said steadily, her voice no more than a murmur, “Look into my head. I know you guys can do that. I hope that’s not a Dark Side thing so you won’t have any hang ups, but…if it is, fuck it, can’t you do it anyway? I mean, well, as, uh, Brendan Fraser once said…” She touched her temple, with a nervous smile and a little shrug. “I’m the map. It’s all up here.”

Another silence followed that one, until finally, Master Yoda spoke. Dooku could hear the slight edge of unsettlement lingering beneath the surface, though perhaps it was invisible to someone less familiar.

“Very well. A closer look into your thoughts, the Council will take.”

* * *

 

*

Brin settled herself into Plo Koon’s chair as well as she could. It was obviously meant to look good and not be comfortable. The seat was stiff like a horsehair cushion, and adding to her discomfort was that she had watched Poe Dameron _scream_. Was that the one time a Force user had been shown deliberately digging into a person’s head, or…

“Is, uh, this going to hurt?”

Dooku gazed down at her from a short distance, behind Plo Koon—who, now that she got a good look at him, was pretty startlingly not human. It might have felt weirder if she hadn’t spent so much time at anime conventions as a kid, and been pretty sure there was intelligent life somewhere out there. Frankly, it was all a part of the backdrop here. She didn’t let herself think too much about that.

“Only if you resist.”

She laughed a little, a bewildered rictus grin stretching across her face. _Well, fuck me: I’m not sure I can stop myself from resisting_. The idea of her mind being spatchcocked, laid bare for all to see, strained against her every instinct. She looked over at Yoda. _I have literally never made anything easy on myself in my entire life, great_.

“Sounds like a cakewalk.”

She was afraid of the pain, but more than that she wasn’t sure she was really okay with anyone rooting through her head like a pig snuffling for truffles. She kept her personal business very private.

Yoda bent his head to concentrate.

She _really_ did not want to do this.

It felt, at first, like an unexpected piercing pain just behind the eyes, an intrusion so personal that violation seemed the only actionable word as memories were dredged up against her will. _Her_ memories, things that she _hated_ thinking about, things that embarrassed and horrified her, things for which, normally, her consolation was that they were _in her own head_ and—Brin seized up in alarm and absolute rejection, and threw herself back in the seat, clutching at the seat rests as the pain mounted to a level she let a yelp spring free.

 _No no nostopSTOPgetout_ —

The pain vanished immediately, and when the stars cleared from her eyes she looked up to find Dooku, Plo Koon, and Yoda all gazing at her from their feet, the rest of the Council from their seats. Some looked more concerned than others. It must have been just a matter of seconds, all told.

“Was that supposed to happen,” she muttered.

Dooku said nothing, but his expression reflected solemn…nothing. The Jedi would have made fantastic poker players, and it was partly because of that that she found them so unsettling. It was like being stared at by machines. Dooku, however; he was the only person in the room she really knew here as, well, a person, not a construct. His face unsettled her more than any of theirs.

Yoda studied her calmly. “Open your mind to me, you must.” It made it a bit easier that he didn’t sound upset, just considerate. “Much easier, it will be.”

 “Look, I’m sure this is a regular Tuesday for you, but for me it’s a little…”

“ _Brianne_.”

She glanced up at Dooku and found him staring her down. The humiliating reality was that she was afraid. _It’s Yoda, for Christ’s sake. If you can’t trust Yoda, who can you trust?_ She sighed hard, and made herself sit still. _Pinch your nose shut, close your eyes, and jump. Just get it over with._

“Fine, fine…Okay. Let’s try this again.”

When Yoda reached out his hand again, she had to take deep, slow breaths. He gave her a little more time to acclimate herself to the idea this time, starting even slower. It didn’t initially hurt, more like a doctor’s examination poking around her brain, though it grew to a low-grade migraine.

She felt a familiar self-conscious recoil hurry in on its heels as her thoughts began to turn over like a reel she no longer had any control over. Her instinct was to resist, she didn’t like these memories, she didn’t like that he could see them and now he knew them.

Smart, yes—people had always said she was _so smart_ —but bad. The bad child. A bad person. An asshole, doesn’t know how to get along with other kids. Other people. She was always The Problem. Problem with authority, quick mouth, wouldn’t get in line like all the nice children. Mom didn’t even question people who said she did something, didn’t ask what happened, if she was being teased, just punished her. Didn’t question it—even the arbitrary rules that made no sense, she was supposed to _obey_. Brat. Embarrassment. A little bitch. The world _and her mother_ wanted a sweet, happy child that did what it was told and wore monogrammed dresses in frilly socks and patent shoes, and let itself be dressed like until she was eighteen told it was for her own good she was sparing _Brin_ embarrassment when _it wasn’t Brin that had a fucking problem with_ —

“Why are you going over _that_ ,” she gritted out, struggling not to fight him like trying not to snatch back some piece of stolen artwork from a sketchbook, much too personal…

Except Yoda never reacted. His expression remained utterly impassive, or drawn in concentration.

He didn’t answer.

That utter lack of visible reaction somehow made it easier. She felt less judged. _Focus on that_.

Brin clenched her teeth and made herself lean her head back. She was never going to learn to like this, but she could endure the sensation.

In her mind's eye she saw the town she lived in, in the day and in the night: small, crammed chockablock with crumbling clapboard houses. The gas station. The woods (when had she wandered into the woods?). The back garden of Dooku's estate on Serenno, though when she first saw it she hadn't recognized it.

It was easier once Yoda moved past whatever he wanted with her personal memories and moved on to that which was more on the nose. She didn’t even remember the first time she saw _Star Wars_ , but she did remember the release of _The Phantom Menace_ , the awkward dislike she’d held for it at first, and the gradual expansion of media and, hell, the entire concept of publicly acceptable fandom…

Almost all resistance fell away, and the feeling again became clinical, when Yoda finally turned to memories of _Star Wars_. This was something Brin felt comfortable with, something that was as much a friendly face as any individual’s.

 

_“It is…too late for me, my son.”_

_*_

_**_

_“It’s treason, then.”_

_“There is still good in him.”_

_**_

_Venator-class Star Destroyers, rising from the surface of Coruscant._

_“You may fire when ready.”_

_Thrawn, firing overhead at the TIE Defender._

_*_

_“I love you.”_

_"I know.”_

_*_

_“The droid…stole a freighter?”_

_Captain Needa, collapsing to his knees, lying dead._

_***_

_“Failed, I have. Into exile, I must go.”_

_*_

_"I only know one truth: it’s time for the Jedi to end.”_

_The_ Raddus _streaking into hyperspace; a hail of light and shadow._

_*_

_**_

_“Execute Order 66.”_

 

 

 

Brin would never quite know how long it took. Time was different inside one’s own head, like spending an hour and thinking it was five minutes or suffering through five minutes and thinking it was an hour. She had to rouse herself from a tar pit when Yoda finally let go.

Brin found herself shuddering as if she were cold with a resonant ache in her skull, the sunlight spilling into the Council Chamber suddenly much too bright. She licked her lips, and sat up again with a deep breath. She wiped a line of drool from her chin, feeling like she had accidentally fallen asleep at a bad angle.

“I feel like my life was a little beyond the pale,” she snapped.

“Necessary to see what kind of person you are, it was,” Yoda said, not unkindly.

She flinched, defensive. _Was_ that _something that was necessary?_

“So…”

“Strong-willed, you are. Impulsive. Great pride and ambition, you carry with you.”

“Well, I always did get Slytherin...”

Yoda continued to gaze at her. “ _Deception_ , however: a part of your nature, it is not.”

Brin blinked at him, her eyebrows lifting.

 _“_ Well…what are you going to do?”

Yoda shifted slightly, his hands resting placidly on his staff as a thoughtful, terrible look passed over his lined features.

“Act swiftly, the Council must, against this threat to the Republic, while the chance, it still has.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, guys, the OC has a problem with public speaking and being put on the spot, lol. (Her name is Brianne, but her nickname is Brin, and Dooku has no chill.) ALSO, I really like Mace Windu. I’m not trying to bash him. Honestly, SW is one of those shows/movies where I love everyone, lol.
> 
> This actually wasn’t supposed to go down quite so positively, but hey…Yoda isn’t a dick and the OC can in fact be appeased, lol. I have no fucking idea how to write Yoda’s dialogue, fuuuuck XD; Anyway, still on track with the plot skeleton. Nice.
> 
> Although I’m never going to be not upset that like 99% of the galaxy’s shit could be solved if they let Anakin go to a goddamn therapist and work through his shit.
> 
> I’m really fascinated with visual poetry, as much as I suck at poetry, and I’m fucking annoyed that AO3 won’t let me do this properly like I have in my word processor, which is why you’ve got weird images plopped right in the middle of this thing.
> 
> LET ME HAVE MY VISUAL POETRYYYYY.
> 
> (I may or may not have crammed most of my favorite characters into the memory scene. Ahahaha…I hope it wasn’t too much there.)
> 
> “The strongest light casts the darkest shadows.” – Jess C. Scott
> 
> “When the whole world is running headlong towards the precipice, one who walks in the opposite direction is looked at as being crazy.” – T. S. Eliot
> 
> Side note, I really like TS Eliot. He wrote The Wasteland, which I love.
> 
> One of the things that really interests me about Dooku is that he's considered a political idealist. That kind of shit doesn't make for very good cinema very often, the prequels got all kinds of shit for their politics, but I still think it's fun for a thought exercise lol. Plus I think it's really interesting that in the EU Dooku actually had a pretty significant role that wasn't 100% evil, particularly just after the OT; it's been scaled back by Disney, but WHATEVER let's see where this leads us lol.
> 
> Next chapter: Dooku has a friend?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****PSA*****: Massive loss of data (meaning relevant to us: ALL my writing and plot skeletons I've been working on might be lost if the tech guys can't transfer the goods) might mean that I might not be able to update for a while, so...at least I had this uploaded as a draft before Everything Went Wrong? I'd suck it up and roll with the punches (yet again; fact: my life exists to torment me and I SOMEHOW suffer a massive loss of data once every few years...on the plus side, I've learned to endure the loss of all my work, repeatedly, and figure out how to make do...que sera sera) and just work from scratch, but there's more than just my information on that thing so FUCK ME tech support's a pricey racket.
> 
> I also strongly regret taking it to the place just off the place where the rich kids go to school. In retrospect that was not a smart move; if daddy will pay for Little Timmy's rush outfits then daddy will pay extortionist prices to recover Little Timmy's business ethics class test answer sheets. (Ignore me I'm saltier than an anchovy.)
> 
> This fucking chapter...I got headaches and shit (although tbf that's just life doing that to me), I'm still not happy with it, I slashed like half the commentary (now possibly never to be recovered, FUCK), where it wasn't immediately relevant, and put off themes to a later date, and it's still the longest chapter, with the rest of them apparently getting even longer because the plot keeps getting more convoluted and I apparently hate myself so...yay.
> 
> The politics in the GFFA are just plain crazy. I LOVE THEEMMMMM.
> 
> Also, I just wanted to note, before we really get into the meat of this fic, if you find something problematic--go ahead and point it out to me. Chances are I meant it to be there and it's going to be a point later on (I'm not trying to be a complete cunt). Either way, I would like to discuss it if you would, and if there's a question, please ask. I like discussion, so please feel free to share your frustration or comments or what have you.
> 
> This fic is half about weird ass politics, half about the mindfuck it would be to end up in a fictional universe. Cheers.

“I guess…you want your seat back,” Brin said to Plo Koon, smiling awkwardly as she stood up and moved away. “Uh, thanks for letting me use it. Sorry about the drool.”

Plo Koon still seemed to smile at her, though it was a little hard to tell; something about the crinkling around his eye-mask. 

“You’re very welcome.”

Mace Windu’s voice drew her attention next, loud enough to startle her just a little.

“And the Chosen One?”

She had to physically turn to look at him while everyone else merely turned their heads to look at her. _I really hate the configuration of this room_.

Was it by design?—Meaning, was she, and by proxy everyone who saw the Council, first and foremost seen _by_ the Council? There was no way to face all of them together at once as from a podium; she felt as though she lay strapped to a dissecting table in the belly of one of those looming Victorian lecture halls in the round.

“Oh, I—Anakin Skywalker? What else do you want to know about him?”

“The Chosen One is sure to play a significant role in any confrontation with the Sith. While present in the memories we have seen, a clear account was difficult to take from beginning to end. I did not see what became of him.”

Brin cleared her throat. Really? He hadn’t?

“Didn’t Yoda just…” She glanced at Dooku, who raised a dark eyebrow.

“While it is likely that the members of the Council could hear your thoughts, only Master Yoda would have seen them with detailed clarity, and even he may not always be able to understand their context without further explanation.”

Was it just her or was there a little warning emphasis on _Master?_  

“Ehh…he…falls to the Dark Side. Becomes, uh, Darth Vader? Kills all the Jedi. It’s pretty gnarly.”

Their earlier responses paled in comparison to this one: a horrified silence settled over the room, one fraught with genuine surprise. On top of that, mostly for the sake of biting the bullet and getting through it…

She knew even attempting levity had been a mistake as soon as the words left her mouth. Even Dooku could be seen to wince, just a little.

“Anakin Skywalker becomes the masked Sith Lord in your thoughts?” asked a Councilmember, mutedly aghast.

“Um-m-m…yes? I mean—not for like another fifteen years, but…yes. Also, he’s the one with the mask and the actual _cape_ -cape. Just to—Just to be clear. The one with the crossbar lightsaber is Kylo Ren, who…won’t be born for a while. He's not a Sith anyway, even with the red lightsaber...”

“It was a mistake to allow the boy to be trained,” Windu stated to the whole Council chamber, with a finality coupled to an intense stare that made Brin lean back on her heels. 

Brin tried to speak up, not even sure what she meant to say. She was drowned out before she could say anything.

“It may be wise to send him away from the Order, to prevent this outcome,” suggested another Councilmember, one whose face and name she didn’t know. Honestly, the only other person on the Council besides Mace Windu, Plo Koon, and Yoda that she knew was the guy who asked about the droid attack on the Wookies—and Kit Fisto, but he wasn't here.

The rest quickly joined in.

“Would it be wise to expel him _before_ we have successfully eliminated the threat from the Sith Lord? It is possible that if we chose expulsion now, he would only come under the influence of the Dark Side all the sooner.”

“Perhaps the Service Corps may be a practical compromise?”

“Sending him away is too dangerous. We must keep watch over the boy. The Force is too strong in him, the risk is too great.”

“Why not train the boy?” said yet another, a human woman with golden skin, braids, and a vertical 3rd eye piercing. “Now that we know to anticipate this eventuality, we can take measures to avoid it, provided we gain a better understanding of how this eventuality will come to pass.”

 _What happens to expellees; do they just get dumped on the curb or do they get a ticket somewhere? So long and thanks for all the fish?_ It all seemed like an acutely shitty thing to do to a ten-year-old—or anyone, really. Was there a former Jedi halfway house? That sounded like a terrible sitcom waiting to happen.

Brin looked at Dooku again, whose expression was still unreadable. _Say something, damn it!_ Why wasn’t he speaking?

“I agree with Master Windu, the solution is clear before us: expulsion. The child is much too old to have been allowed to begin training. Master Yoda sensed great fear in him when he first arrived.”

“But the Sith Lord is still out there—and is it not true that he knows of the boy’s existence? He was involved in the battle on Naboo. If Skywalker has been expelled, he may take the child.”

“At what point would he have the opportunity to do so? In the years this Council intends to do nothing?”

“It seems imperative to contain the threat to the Republic before…”

On and on and around and around it went. Practically everyone had a different configuration of opinion. Brin couldn’t keep up. It was…nice that they took her so seriously so quickly, she supposed, but…

 _Okay, if he’s not going to say anything_ —

Her voice was sharp and shrill as it rose to a cry, quieting all around in its desperation to be heard. She faltered self-consciously once she realized she actually had got their attention.

“Why—Why would you do that? Why…would you—how could you just kick him out? He’s still the Chosen One, isn’t he?”

“Qui-Gon Jinn believed him to be the Chosen One,” Windu said. “But if he is meant to destroy the Jedi, how can he be the Chosen One, and bring balance to the Force?”

“I mean, depending on how you look at it, he accomplished that, _technically_ ,” Brin blurted out. Instantly, she had their rapt, not-quite-hostile attention. “The…numbers are tipped pretty far in your favor right now, aren’t they…”

Oh man, did she wish she could melt into a puddle and evaporate into nonexistence. 

“Why come before us to plead your case at all if you believe such a thing?” he demanded, calmly ferocious as he all but glowered at her.

She turned scarlet to the tips of her ears.

“I…I mean, I—well—Okay, well—I mean…look at it this way: that’s all pointless, isn’t it? We’re here to change history, right? Well, why can’t part of that mean preventing Anakin from becoming Darth Vader?

“Who’s to say that bringing balance to the Force has to mean destroying the Jedi? What does that even mean, _balance_ in the Force?” She was rapidly becoming a bit shouty, but she kept going anyway, even though she knew she was kind of rambling, and completely making it up as she went along, scrambling for the matchsticks scattered in her head because could she really be expected to not say anything? “It sounds like a philosophical question to me, at best. We don’t know what it means. _I_ don’t know. Watching a movie is practically engineered to give you the answer, because it’s a plot point, and _I_ still don’t know exactly what it means…

“Seriously, y-y-you should see the arguing on reddit and Tumblr— what does this Council really accomplish by what it does, how does that work with the Senate, what even _is_ the nature of the Force. Hell, I’m lucky this is the Disney continuity and not the EU, I know a lot less about the EU. All you have is a prophecy. Prophesies don’t just give you the whole script.

“But I mean, the point is, that if you’re going to take changing history seriously, that means taking steps to prevent what happened the first time around, and also…not assuming anything or anybody will turn out like it did before. Dooku’s not a Sith Lord, but he was supposed to become one, so…

“So why are you assuming that Anakin is definitely going to become Darth Vader? Why would you just kick him out? Of course he’s scared! He’s ten! I’m scared, and I’m like, three times his age! Get him therapy or something, but there’s no reason to kick him out.”

Brin stood still afterwards for several seconds after her emphatic declamation tapered off into awkward silence, internally begging somebody to _say something_ —

“The Council will make a decision on the training of young Skywalker,” Windu stated.

For a moment she waited for him to continue.

It took Brin the space of several seconds to realize that, by their silence, she was being told, without being told, firmly if politely, to shut up. That she was not part of this conversation. Brin stiffened at first in complete surprise—this of all things was not the kind of response she had expected from the Jedi Council—then in embarrassment, then with the rage that boiled over all of it opened her mouth—

“Brianne, enough.”

Brin snapped her head around and stared up at Dooku.

“ _What?_ ”

He gave the barest shake of his head. His expression was perilously severe, but she really didn't care. The only thing that saved him from having his face bitten off for being such a _complete pompous asshole_ (she really hoped he caught that one) was an interruption.

“Difficult, the future is to see,” Yoda supplied. “This decision, lightly made, must not be.”

She turned her face down. Yoda, at least, had stayed where it was easy to look at him. “I feel like that just strengthens _my_ argument…”

“From a certain point of view, perhaps,” Windu said. “Count Dooku, please remove our guest from the Council Chamber.”

She saw him begin to turn and lift a hand, reaching for her elbow—

Brin stiffened and leaned away just obviously enough to make him pause. She shot a baleful look at him. _Do not fucking touch me_.

“Will you come quietly?”

 _Oh_ hell _no, excuse_ you _, will I come quie_ —

She was really feeling the dregs of that wine now; she was even a little lightheaded. For an instant she considered slapping that impassive look right off his face. She had never hit anyone in anger in her life, but it was tempting.

 _This was all_ your _idea._ You _dragged me here, I didn’t even want to come!_ Brin had never pretended to be good at this kind of shit, and she did not like being put in a position where she was fucked from the concept, then blamed when it went bad.

“No one ever says please, but somehow _I’m_  always the fuckup,” she muttered, already turning towards the door. “How is that right?”

“You don't respond to the simplest request at the best of times,” he replied curtly. “No doubt they don’t wish to waste their time in the attempt.”

“Man's got jokes,” she muttered.

“A moment, Master Dooku,” Windu said, straightening from a quiet side-conversation with Ki-Adi Mundi beside him, and both Brin and Dooku stopped. “We request that you remain and assist us in determining the path ahead. The Sith Lord cannot be allowed to continue in his present course.”

“I will return, as quickly as possible.”

She couldn’t help herself: “Are you going to stash me in the nearest broom closet or something?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Ooh, like you lost it to the Dark Si—”

“ _Out_ ,” he snapped, taking a firm step in her direction, crowding her towards the door.

Brin flinched in surprise.

On some level, she might have gotten it into her head that since he'd never shown more than contemptuous exasperation—never any real anger, never the hint of a real threat—he wouldn’t go further than that, so somehow, despite his generally shitty demeanor, he was a safe target—or was it that she wanted one, to make him prove himself a hypocrite? Was it that she hated his entire attitude because he was a stuffy jerk? It was hard to know. But now that she had it, she didn’t want it. _I really shouldn’t egg at him like that_. Whatever else happened, he was still her ride home. If he ditched her, she was screwed.

It was hard to think or care too much for any length of time. Her anger rallied, and it didn’t matter that this conversation could continue, in a very bad way. He’d just left her swinging in the wind!

The door to the Council Chamber hissed shut on their heels.

She stopped with him about ten feet from it, and that was where she tossed her head and glared at him. He looked like someone who had a lot to say but couldn't bother saying it.

“You know, for a guy who says he’s got issues with the Council, you were _real_ quiet in there.”

He’d pulled this silent treatment a couple of times before, usually when she had said something he really didn't like and he was choosing to ignore her, but she was in no mood to fish for whatever it was this time or make amends or explain herself or ask for an explanation, or even give a single solitary shit about what the fuck she could possibly have done this time. At least with the wine there was a clear cause and effect.

But aside from that, as far as she could tell from everything she had ever seen, she hadn't ever figured she would get kicked out of the room like that. They were the good guys...?

She settled for disgust.

“ _Fine_. You know what? I did what you asked me to do. Can we just go back to Serenno? I want to go home. I’m worried about my cats.” 

Instead of answering, Dooku suddenly brightened (well—he looked less sour anyway). Brin’s ranting died on her tongue as a newcomer joined them. Jedi, not a Jedi? He wasn’t wearing a robe…

“I was glad to see you had called—I was beginning to become worried. You have not answered my messages.” He did not, noticeably, have an accent that she would call English, but the people here would call Coruscanti.

“It is good to see you, Sifo-Dyas. This is Brianne. She will no doubt insist that you call her Brin.” He glanced at Brin. “Brianne, this is Sifo-Dyas, one of my oldest friends.”

In her head, there was a sound not unlike a record scratching to a complete stop. It barely registered that there was definitely a subtle note of warning there, one she suspected was a pointed direction to _play nice_.

“Umm…It’s, er…nice to meet you. Sifo…Sifo-Dyas.” Was that a full name? Sifo Dyas? Was she supposed to call him Sifo or Dyas or both at one time? Not knowing what else to do, she stuck her hand out because, well, she didn’t know what else to do. Sifo-Dyas shook it, which in retrospect was probably weirder for him since no one here seemed to shake hands. “Hello.”

Dooku sounded slightly judgmental. Well—even more judgmental, since his default was already pretty lofty. “Are you unfamiliar with Master Sifo-Dyas?”

“Y…Yes.” 

“I was under the impression you—”

“Okaywell _obviously_ —” she muttered, not _liking_ it, but—there it was—“I don’t know everything. I know we had that conversation.”

“I apologize for the suddenness of my request, but please look after Brianne for me, until my business with the Council is concluded,” Dooku said, turning back to Sifo-Dyas. Even his voice changed when speaking to Sifo-Dyas; it was much warmer, far less sharp. “Try not to be too indulgent. If you give her a millimeter she will take a parsec.”

 _Motherf_ —

“I was en route on my return to the Temple when I received your message and I did not arrive until just now. What is happening?”

“It is being decided what to do about the Sith Lord whose apprentice killed Qui-Gon.”

Sifo-Dyas’ eyes widened. “You have discovered the identity of the second Sith Lord?”

“Indeed. There is not time to tell you everything now, but please do as I ask.”

“Of course. I will see to it that she remains safe.”

“ _Safe?_ Look, unless someone is dumb enough to tell Palpatine that I exist, I’m pretty sure I don’t need a babysitter. I can just find space Starbucks—”

Sifo-Dyas’ eyes darted to Brin’s face at _Palpatine_ , but went back to Dooku.

“See that she stays out of the Archives.”

He swept away before she could say anything else, back towards the door leading to the Council Chamber. Brin finally gave in.

“May I assume that is an unkind gesture?” Sifo-Dyas asked, with a sort of observant, benign curiosity.

“He’s number one.” 

The door shut, and left Brin and her babysitter in the ensuing quiet. Brin eyed the unfamiliar Jedi with more than passing apprehension.

 _Okay, maybe that_ wasn't _such a great parting shot to put on display right just then_.

Was Sifo-Dyas an important character that she had somehow forgotten, or he just hadn’t been on screen?

There was also the material question: _Dooku has friends?_  He'd never treated anything around them like a friend. The servants on Serenno had been, well, servants. The two members of his extended family that she had met seemed to hold him in awe, like somehow his existence was something they could take personal pride in. His relationship to them seemed just as distant—or maybe she just didn't 'get' aristocrats. Brin herself was just a means to an end.

It was _weird._ She had no idea what to do with this information. 

_What kind of person could be friends with Dooku? A masochist?_

Sifo-Dyas didn’t wear the flowing robes of a Jedi, but instead a somewhat neater, trimmer coat over trousers. He had long dark hair and a topknot, and a face that reminded her of Qui-Gon Jinn, only more tanned, with less tree-hugging... 

“Yan said that your name is Brianne?”

She was so thrown off by the situation and the question and how he said it—politely, with apparent genuine interest—that she completely forgot to be angry.

“Who’s Yan?”

“Yan Dooku—Count Dooku. His given name is Yan.”

 _In retrospect, context probably made that obvious_...

She had to shake herself. Either she had missed that tidbit too, or it had never been mentioned once in her presence. He’d certainly never told it to her. On second thought it wasn’t shocking that Dooku had a given name or that he’d neglected to tell her what it was—telling her at all would have been almost like giving permission to use it, and she was never getting that. Well, it was just a first name, and…not everyone in shows had or needed one or the other…

She fixed on the part she could grasp.

“It’s, uh, just Brin. My name, I mean—Not Brianne. Nobody calls me Brianne.”

Sifo-Dyas smiled faintly. “Yan insists on Brianne?”

The emotional whiplash was bright and harsh as a flare—“ _Wh_ —”

“How long have you and he known together?”

“A week. Ish. Why?”

“And you’re both alive,” Sifo-Dyas replied, mirth somewhere in his eyes as he continued to smile. “That seems a small miracle.”

She froze. “Are…Are you making fun of me?” She really couldn’t tell. He was smiling pleasantly, but he was Dooku's friend. 

There were rules with Dooku. She knew about him, enough that even the serious possibility of him turning into a Sith Lord didn't take away from the fact he hadn't asked her to speak to Palpatine, that his lightsaber was not red. Even as a Sith, too, he'd always seemed like a more...self-aware Sith, if such a thing existed. A jerk who had done terrible things, but still one that could be reasonably rational.

Of course, there had always been the possibility he was lying. Either way, he seemed likely to drag her off on his terms if she refused to make any terms and Brin wasn't a complete idiot. She took while the getting was good. 

She did not know what to make of this development, a friend she had never heard of, something eerily...personal. Like Dooku was a person with more than a one-dimensional personality who could be friends with another person. Not a rote fact, not something she had some kind of ex ante insight into. 

The idea that the man had friends itself probably shouldn't have surprised her. The odd character that crossed paths with anyone on screen that seemed to know them hinted at an actual social life beyond screen time.

But this was _Dooku_. 

“Certainly not.”

Baffled, she couldn’t do anything but stand there, wishing she knew what to say.

“Come, Brin,” Sifo-Dyas said, stepping aside and gesturing for her to walk with him. “Let’s take a walk, it seems to me you could use one. Now, will _you_ tell me about what it is that is happening, or must I wait to hear it from someone else?”

* * *

 

*

“May I assume that is an unkind gesture?” Dooku heard Sifo-Dyas ask, laughing silently through the Force.

“He’s number one,” he heard her retort in a snide tone as the doors shut again.

He silently wished Sifo-Dyas luck and apologized again for the burden Dooku had placed on his shoulders. Perhaps, given that Sifo-Dyas had always been more amicable, he would find the girl less vexatious.

The issue was—he had to let his own frustration be released into the Force—that such displays were often counterproductive. The Council would not be moved by emotion, they eschewed attachment and passion, whereas the girl was nothing if not heartfelt. When cornered in a debate, some Jedi, those who thought very little about the heuristics of their own dogma and how they, as individuals, were operant within them, would admit that passion whispered of the Dark Side regardless of whether the person speaking of it was a Force-user, as the Force was present in all living beings.

Truly, Dooku was not without any sympathy for the core of what she had to say, if not her appalling lack of self-control in saying it. They _had_ come here to affect some kind of change, and he himself _had_ to believe that neither he nor anyone else was not bound to any one fate.

Put a different way: he did not disagree, but that did not excuse her behavior about which he was deeply displeased. Was her insolence limitless?

There was an art to this, and there were reasons he had wanted her to remain composed. 

Were it not for the fact that a more immediate response would impinge upon his own dignity and standing in their present company, she would not have been allowed to continue at all. He certainly did not intend to allow her actions to go unanswered, but the question would keep.

For now he put the witless creature out of his head and focused on the issue at hand.

The argument in the main was utterly academic at this point. Now that the Council had accepted the reality of the threat, they would  _act_ , but if it were at all possible to steer their actions now that they had been set in motion it would have to be by arguing with dispassion. Once this was over and the danger from the Sith Lord had passed, it would be necessary to ask and answer difficult questions as to the governance of the Republic; if, on the other side, he continued to find deaf ears here—and he had every reason to expect it—he might find more willing allies in the Senate...

“You have returned very quickly,” Windu observed.

“I encountered Master Sifo-Dyas just outside the Council Chamber. I am sure he is equal to the task of keeping her out of trouble.”

“Unaware, the Council was, that Master Sifo-Dyas had returned.”

“Only just, Master Yoda.

“Allow me to apologize; Brianne speaks earnestly, without guile. She is excitable, but not with the intent to mislead or wound. She knows well of what she speaks. Completely discarding what she says, refusing to consider it, would put the Council at a disadvantage.”

Dooku refrained from pointing out the obvious more directly: however low his opinion was on her character, given the nature of the source of her information, and given that the Council accepted it at face value, arguably, she had a more detachedly omniscient perspective than even their own.

But perhaps, wedded to preserving political balance, the Council could not easily accept the damning implications of actions it had yet to experience fault in. It was one thing to hear about someone else’s failure—another thing entirely to accept that you yourself were capable of such a thing. The reality that stared _him_ in the face was one that dared him to contradict it: he had been so close slipping from the knife’s edge, falling prey to the treacherous stealth with which Palpatine had ( _would have_ ) ensnared him, shearing him from even the ability to see past his own decisions...

On that note, in particular, he felt a specially sharp sense of regret. He had pushed away even his friend Sifo-Dyas on his downward spiral, on leaving the Jedi Order. And for what? The Chancellor, who lamented to him the Jedi's _unwillingness_ to act, that they were so regrettably bound by the rules of their Order to ignore the suffering of peoples throughout the galaxy, flattering him as having an especially adroit sense of the ills plaguing the Republic and the galaxy at large?

He could not escape what had been said, he could not unthink what had been thought. _Much of it still made sense_. That Palpatine was a Sith Lord did not nullify grievances with the corruption of the Republic and the Senate that presided over it, or justify the palliative torpor of the Jedi.

For Dooku, it was not simply a matter of rejecting a whole canon outright. Dooku had been fifty years old and long affected by a sense of disapprobation when he met the new Senator from Naboo two decades before. Palpatine had merely contrived to…direct his energies. He would need time to reflect, to pluck from the fabric of his mind the threads interwoven by Palpatine's abetment.

As well, the sterility of _facts_ was troublesome for the same reason the Council’s decisions were problematic: they completely ignored the sentient thought involved in making the decisions, and reduced beings to abstract things that didn’t feel, didn’t speak, didn’t hurt. While the Council did its best to act impartially, those on the Council were still individuals. Perfect objectivity in a sentient being was an impossible ideal. Gallia was strict and focused, an aggressive warrior; Piell bellicose. In contrast, Billaba was more conscientious, calm, and spiritual. Poof had an aggravating mischievous streak.

“The Council might benefit from a greater understanding of this…other universe,” said Ki-Adi Mundi.

The meaning here was clear to Dooku, swaddled in layers of indirect protocol: he was being asked to see if she would, or, to be more precise, to see _that_ she would if or when she was called to speak. If the Council saw a reason they might call her before them alone and there would be little he could do to stop them—private citizens had the right to file complaints against the Order, but these were rarely accepted by the courts to start with, and rulings were almost always in the Order’s favor—but unless he completely forswore her as his responsibility, or the need was very great and he had previously signaled that he might not be accommodating, they were unlikely to be so discourteous, to him at least if not to someone who was not a former Jedi Master.

“I am sure she would be willing to come before the Council again. However, we face a crisis of a more immediate sense.”

“The Sith Lord,” Windu said. “And the matter of young Skywalker.”

“Skywalker is still but a youngling,” said Billaba. “It would be a mistake to react too quickly and too harshly to this information.”

“The girl said that he would not fall for another fifteen years,” Rancisis said. “The boy who stood before us a mere handful of months ago was no Sith, however afraid he was. With this in mind, it seems it would be prudent to resolve the matter of the Sith Lord before passing final judgement on Anakin Skywalker’s continued apprenticeship.”

"It is her belief that he would not fall at all, were it not for the gradual inducement of the Chancellor."

"Is this a fact known to her?" Windu asked.

"No," Dooku was forced to admit, his jaw faintly stiff. "It is speculation." Were they unaware or had they not let it touch them? It was on mere speculation that he could stand here, and not be condemned a Sith himself.

“Perhaps it was unwise to accept him into the Order, to allow him to begin training as a Jedi in the first place, with such fear in his heart,” said Gallia. “But the dice have already been cast, and expulsion from the Jedi Order will not preclude him from seeking out a teacher whenever it becomes within his power to do so, if that should be his aim, and if he cannot find a teacher within the Jedi Order he will be all the more susceptible to the Dark Side. The boy knows he is strong in the Force. We have no reason to believe he would not try to teach himself, if we send him away.”

Yarael Poof, head swaying gently and thoughtfully as he spoke, said, “Even if we defeat this Sith Lord, if we expel Skywalker, future generations may face a new threat. If we allow him to stay, free from the influence of the Sith Lord, it seems to me that he is far less likely to fall to the Dark Side. By expelling him, we endanger the Republic.”

“It could be an unnecessary risk to continue to train him as well, should he eventually fall to the Dark Side,” Windu pointed out. “The Service Corps may be the best alternative left to us. In any case—as Master Rancisis has said, the question of Skywalker is one that will keep, whereas the longer the Sith Lord remains in power, the more dangerous he will become.”

“Ascending to the office of Chancellor has put him in a position to direct policy and gather support, but as yet his plans are far from fruition,” Dooku said. “Palpatine must be removed from the Chancellorship before he has the chance to burrow any further into the institutional pediments of the Republic.”

“He must be apprehended immediately,” stated Master Gallia, firmly.

“I agree,” Master Windu said. This statement elicited far fewer conflicting opinions; one by one, the Council unanimously expressed its will that the Chancellor be removed from power with all due haste—

As he listened, while a part of him was pleased to see the Council bestir itself after his early uncertainty, it was with a jolt of quiet dread that Dooku realized that he should have been far more pleased than he was. 

“Among everyone here you are most likely to be familiar with how dangerous this Sith Lord is. Tell us: what sort of opponent will we face?”

Looking at Master Windu, who had spoken and drawn his attention, Dooku admitted, “He is an extremely powerful opponent. When his identity was to have been finally discovered, you yourself confronted him with two other members of the Jedi Order. You managed to defeat him, Master Jedi, but were betrayed. The two you brought with you were killed as well. He also defeated Master Yoda.” He'd seen only flashes of the battle against Windu; the girl's memory glittered indistinctly like a shattered, falling mirror. The only clarity was in the outcome. The one she remembered with greater specificity had been the latter. 

“Betrayed by whom? Yourself?”

He shook his head. _So, Windu did hear that? And yet—_ “I was to have been dead some time. The betrayal was to come at the hands of Anakin Skywalker. It was to have been this act, driven by fear and despair, by which he fell, and became Darth Vader.”

“Powerful he must be, for my old apprentice to call him Master,” Yoda said grimly. He had been deep in thought for the majority of the conversation, something which had not escaped Dooku's notice.

Dooku said nothing. He had no argument, nothing to say to that. Absurdly, he felt like a Padawan again, as Yoda studied him closely from his seat.

“Then we must act _now_ , with all haste, to put an end to this plot to overthrow the Republic. He will only grow stronger in the Dark Side.” Windu stood up, and with him rose the rest of the Council. “We will confront the Chancellor immediately.”

“He is a dangerous and very skilled duelist," Dooku said. "I wish to accompany you to confront the Chancellor—and I hope that in the future, the Council will be willing to take into account its part in the creation of the circumstances which have allowed this danger to become a reality.”

After a moment, Master Windu nodded decisively. “Very well. We will be glad to have you with us. If the Sith Lord is truly so powerful, we should take no chances.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh...what do you think? Should the Council boot Anakin? Hahahahaha...
> 
> Keep in mind that this fic is very much in the wild category of Utter Shitshows. There's a LOT going on in this chapter. Also, I really do not know what the Council would call Count Dooku--Master Dooku, since that's what they knew him as, or Count Dooku? They're not fighting each other and he's obviously Count Dooku in the usual timeline, so...
> 
> Man, I have no idea. Thoughts?
> 
> Yes, we will be getting POVs from Council members. Eventually. 
> 
> P.s., You do not have to like or dislike the OC. Dooku meanwhile is trying, bless his heart. One thing I should probably make clear about this story is that I’m not trying to paint anyone, Brin, Dooku, or the Jedi as terrible, but these things, much as they want them to be, aren’t very black and white (okay well, PALPATINE, he’s an unrepentant and gleefully cackling piece of absolute garbage, that one). You can judge whether or not I’ve successfully depicted that.
> 
> Ps. I love Depa Billaba you can pry her from my cold dead fingers.
> 
> PPs. One of the weirder things in this chapter is that Dooku is essentially minding his manners; courtesies, customs, and legal obligation (and their differences and interplay) are some of the harder things to depict with any clarity, I think, but since this is political and part of this fic is discussing the bureaucracy of the late Republic, bear with me and slog through it.
> 
> Yeah, it’s a huge pain in the ass and isn’t as fun as jumping in an X-Wing and blowing something up. Sorry. Someone once showed me a video of a guy interviewing for a position with company; there’s a set of cues in corporate life to follow in the US when interviewing for a position, and one of them is that when asked “why do you want to work here” you have to give some fluffy answer to the tune of “Well I think that this company is just soooooo amaaaaaaaazing and I could do so much good to the world” that is not “I need this job because I have bills; because I need the money, emphasis on NEED not want, I will work very hard for you and put up with a lot of shit. please hire me.” Fuck that up, you’re less likely to get the job. I think it's stupid, but I still have to say "Well I think that this company is just soooooo amaaaaaazing and I could do so much good to the world," meanwhile, back in reality, I just need the money to pay bills.
> 
> My theory is there's this weird cultural inflection in the US where, despite however mercenary the economy is, you're not supposed to be in it for the money, but grateful/glad (just) to be working (this ties into prosperity gospel). So the justification can't be "I need money because shit costs money" it has to be some fluffy nonsensical "this is important to my existence because it makes me feel like a better person." 
> 
> PPPs, Lol I almost fucked it up, there’s apparently a roster for those on the Council between the films/CW show? Kit Fisto is not yet on the Council.
> 
> PPPPs, I apologize in advance (again), I know I already warned you guys about the copious political fuckery involved in this fic, but I feel like I need to warn you again: lots of politics, lots of deliberation, lots of talking. I like my worldbuilding and I like my politics, and if it feels like it drags its feet…This is probably not going to be considered a fast-paced story.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I should tag for “glacially slow burn political manipulation and legal fuckery.” Palps is…deluxe shiny garbage bastard man. I have never in my life written Palpatine, I don’t know how it’s usually done, but I’m going for ‘frighteningly good at manipulating people and playing the long game piece of NARCISSISTIC SHITTTT.’ Please help if you think I’ve fucked up royally.
> 
> I’ve always loved the scene in ROTS where Palpatine is escaping from the Invisible Hand, and he’s stuck in the falling ship—he just kind of plays along, and I swear, his expression reads “if these two idiots fuck up and die, how am I going to explain a Frail Old Man™ walking away from a fireball?” 
> 
> I APOLOGIZE FOR EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS CHAPTER.

 Honestly? Brin was afraid to ask.

How on earth was this guy friends with Count Dooku?

Dooku did not do _nice_. He didn’t tell funny stories. There was a single note to him, and she knew what it sounded like.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that Sifo-Dyas was actively trying to get her to laugh. Failing that, at least to smile, or to do something other than barely manage to stay upright as she walked, staring at him out of the corner of her eye while her face was pointed straight ahead. She was beginning to feel a little bad, because that just was not computing.

But if a brain could 404...

Dooku definitely didn’t offer to take her to get something to eat, and if he had, he wouldn’t have asked her opinion about it. Most likely, he wouldn’t have asked anything. She would simply have found herself at a restaurant. 

He’d paid for everything—she’d eaten his food at his table (a long formal dining table, the kind she had only seen on TV), slept in his guest bedroom, and breathed his oxygen on the way here. She’d been well provided for by every reasonable metric and by any estimation he was a more than generous host. She wasn’t ungrateful for that, not really—not the way he seemed to think she was, anyway.

This was completely different. And on top of that, she had an unpleasant sense that, like a child spending the night over at someone else’s house, he would take her behavior as a reflection on himself, and whatever else happened, she was completely dependent upon him here. The thing was, she knew where she stood with Dooku and she knew how to deal with him. The same could not be said about Sifo-Dyas, and _definitely_  did not know what to do when it came to both of them together. This had the potential to go really badly.

“It’s—um—whatever sounds good?”

“There is an excellent Mirialan restaurant two blocks below, less than a mile away,” he said.

“Um. Sure. Should we—Are you sure it’ll be okay? I mean, I haven’t said anything to Dooku, and he doesn’t like me running off…” Lord knew she had walked backwards into Hell as often and as egregiously as possible a thousand times before, but...

“You are with me.”

She laughed a little, high in the throat, involuntary. What was that supposed to mean?

“Right…” She glanced around herself, at the wide atrium around them, the enormous central gallery, with its monumental columns. The thought arrived without warning.  _People die in here, they show this place during Order 66_. She pushed that away, and focused on her situation right now. Dooku had said himself that this Sifo-Dyas was ‘one of his oldest friends.’ She was probably going to take an ass-chewing no matter what happened. Either she offended Sifo-Dyas by not taking him up on it, or she offended Dooku by not…taking him up? Damn it, she had no idea what she was doing. “Mirialan…sounds great.”

“If he is upset, I will speak to him.”

Brin’s eyes were probably the size of dinner plates by now. She had smarted off to Dooku _a lot_. But no matter how hard she fought, she had never won. From what she had seen, no one ever did. His own family deferred to him. This guy would just…talk to him and make problems go away? Good fucking lord.

“Um. Sure.”

Sifo-Dyas did not linger, otherwise things probably would have gotten awkward. He led her along in great sweeping strides, and she had to hustle to keep up. He wasn’t as tall as Dooku himself, but Brin was still shorter.

“Have you ever had Mirialan food before?”

“No,” she admitted, glad she didn’t have to think too much about that one.

“I imagine you tried Serennian food while in Yan’s company?”

“Um…yes.”

“What was your opinion?”

“It’s…alright.”

“I’ll never understand how creamed seaweed is a breakfast item.”

Brin shrugged, more a meager twitch of her shoulders. She had tried the stuff. Her reaction hadn’t won her any brownie points.

“He likes it,” was all she could think of, more of a weak croak.

“He _does_ ,” Sifo-Dyas sighed with a deeply felt, longsuffering sort of regret. “And he’s forced me to eat it on multiple occasions. When he got it into his head that he should learn to cook, he used me as his test subject on the condition that he spare his Padawan the agony of his mistakes. And there were many. There is apparently a very fine art to the creation of sludge.”

Brin glanced at Sifo-Dyas. Another one? She almost wished he would stop. She didn’t know what to do with these vignettes—she could hardly imagine bringing them up with Dooku himself. Dooku would probably be annoyed or assume she had pestered Sifo-Dyas into telling.

Now that she knew, she was going to think about them. And then Dooku would know she was thinking about them, and…

 “He eventually mastered it, of course. Yan is an extremely determined individual. Once he fixates upon something it becomes very hard to dissuade him, and he will pursue it to the fullest.”

“You don’t say,” Brin remarked under her breath, deadpan. 

“Which makes his presence here surprising to say the least—I’d go so far as to say practically out of character. I’d thought he had washed his hands of the Jedi Order when he walked away after their inactivity following the death of his Padawan, Qui-Gon Jinn.”

_Out of character, really? You had to say that?_

Brin couldn’t help but cringe a little. She had wanted to go back to familiar territory, but that didn’t mean she liked the familiar territory. _Here we go_. After a brief, initial foray into softball questions, which she answered—it covered the basics—that quickly tapered off into an aggressively cheerful almost-running commentary, he’d finally come back to ask about what he was really interested in.

“I am grateful,” Sifo-Dyas admitted. “He had begun to worry me. It is not like him to not answer my messages, and while I accepted his resignation from the Order I was not prepared to be shut out of his life.”

“I don’t think he plans to come back to the Jedi Order,” Brin replied, feeling put on the spot. “It’s—it’s not anything that I _know_. He hasn’t said anything, and I just…I just…don’t get the feeling that’s what he plans to do.”

“I also doubt he plans to return to the Order,” Sifo-Dyas said, far more soberly. “But he is no longer vanished completely. Thank you.”

Brin stopped walking. This was not the expected outcome. Sifo-Dyas stopped a few paces afterwards and looked back at her. _Emotion_ was there, and she felt it, but it was painful and heavy and it hurt, and it was too tightly tangled to try and pick apart just now. It had always been there, really, but usually she didn’t have to think about it. What the fuck did she have to do with Dooku? She was a dancing puppet, dressed up and on display: pull the cord and words come out. She got angry and mouthed off because, well, he pretty much dismissed her in every other sense.

“I didn’t do anything,” she mumbled, staring at her feet. “I haven’t done anything. You shouldn’t thank me. Go thank him.”

“Would he or would he not have fallen from the Light, had you been unwilling to speak?”

“I—Anyone would’ve done that who could have, the information isn’t any great insight. Nothing I’ve done is special. He’s the one calling the shots.”

“Not everyone would’ve come all the way to Coruscant.”

“He made me come to Coruscant.”

“Even so.”

“Stop thanking me! He dragged me here, and the Council literally just kicked me out of the room. I haven’t done anything special. I just showed up.” _You need to calm down, you’re getting worked up_ …

She didn’t know why, either. Something about how…non-responsive Sifo-Dyas was being. Dooku made sense. She got angry and mouthed off because if she didn't make noise he ignored her, and he moved her around like a living doll. Sifo-Dyas? He'd been nothing but kind.

But he was Dooku's friend. Not hers.

_Calm the hell down. Calm down right fucking now. You don’t know him and you don’t know how this could end, what is the matter with you?_

Sifo-Dyas merely gazed back. She felt uncomfortable and exposed; it was alright to make snide remarks and flounce around or laugh, but _real_ upset? That got far too close to the marrow. Brin stood there, bristling agitatedly and struggling to control her breathing, but more or less silent.

“We should hurry; if we wait much longer, the restaurant will be too busy.” His voice was at an almost tranquilizing pitch, smooth and without anger.

It was maddening.

Brin clenched her teeth. _Deep breaths. Five seconds in, hold five seconds, five seconds out_ …

It was a real relief to think that she could be home in a couple of days. It was beginning to become harder to remember that she was supposed to _like_ this place.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go.”

When Sifo-Dyas steered her off the main walkway, and towards a side-hall, away from the grandiose front gallery that spread its arms to Coruscant’s western sky, she expected a much smaller, more boring shortcut, like going behind-the-scenes in an airport.

This hallway, while smaller, was no less stately. Its shaded gallery was tinted blue by the color of the stained glass. She saw two staff members, apparently custodial—or else that wasn’t a cleaning cart. Brin didn’t know. Jedi swept up and down its length in robes with placid, sometimes faintly smiling faces, some in more hurry than others. Brin, who had started drinking to a Netflix documentary about Jonestown the night she got into this mess, decided not to make any smart remarks about Kool-Aid, not least because she was still kind of worked up, and finally coming down off that wine.

After all—these were Jedi, not a suicide cult…

She glanced at Sifo-Dyas, hoping he hadn’t caught that bit.

If he had, he chose not to mention it. _He’s doing that a lot. What is he thinking?_

When they passed under an awning Brin found herself walking around on the level just around the main floor of the Jedi Temple. It stretched upwards behind her, with its tall spires, and in front of her, Coruscant yawned wide open, swallowing her up inside snaggletooth jaws. A cool breeze wafted around them; it smelled like ozone to her, and something weirdly industrial.

She didn’t realize she had stopped in place and was craning her neck until Sifo-Dyas said something and it didn’t register.

She jerked her head back down as an embarrassed flush crept across her face.

“Sorry?” she stammered. “What was that?”

“I asked if you were at all thirsty.”

“Well yeah…I guess?” Now that he asked, she realized she very much was thirsty. Though the wine had mostly worn off it wasn’t exactly an electrolyte. “I thought you said we were in a hurry.”

“There is time; you can drink while we walk. It isn’t precisely polite, but no one will say anything.”

“Um. Sure.” She felt like she was saying that a lot.

Now that they were on the street she couldn’t stop staring. Coruscant really did not agree with her—how could anything be so enormous but so cramped at the same time. She was not a huge fan of endless cityscape to begin with—but she couldn’t help being fascinated. Despite everything it was her first time actually getting to see anything up close.

Dooku had his own ship. She hadn’t seen a public spaceport on the way to Coruscant, and he had refused to take her from his estate to see any cities on Serenno (and it had been much too far to walk). It was all new to her: avenues of people walking everywhere, cleaner than New York City, cool in the shadow of towering spires. Lots of non-humans. She was sure she looked like a tourist, but after a moment she realized she didn't care.

The place he stopped was off the main path but still accessibly located, with a blue neon sign in Aurebesh in a recessed placard hanging over a pair of sliding glass doors. It was bigger on the inside, where it was spotless, brightly lit, and organized into well-stocked rows on low shelves, parts of them flickering with pervasive, multicolored holographic advertisements. Some of them made noise, though were quiet. There were other customers, but they must have been used to Jedi because no one looked up. It was even cooler in here than it was outside.

And suddenly she realized what had been missing from everything around her. _Advertising_.

Back home, of course, advertising was everywhere. It was invasive, it crowded into her life and shouted for her attention from all sides at all hours of the day with all kinds of rhetorical device, pulling at her attention. Advertisement’s sudden presence here after its invisibility startled her, and made her feel like there was something else she didn’t know, which didn’t help her anxiety at all.

There was a wall of drinks in the back. Inside was riot of colors and designs in rank and file. One case was full of hot drinks. _I don’t know what I’m looking at_. Even if she could read Aurebesh without struggling womanfully to pick it apart, letter by letter, she wouldn’t have recognized anything…

Brin scanned the cases, not sure what she was looking for. Her eyes finally settled on a pastel green and blue can, with… _is that? That is a bantha_.

She opened the door, reached in to the case, and grabbed one. It was about half the size of a regular 8oz can of Coke and sat heavily in her palm, condensation gathering immediately on its cold surface. For as unexceptional as it probably was, she couldn’t stop staring at the label. It was relentlessly busy, all in pastels, with a cute cartoon bantha bouncing through a field of green fruit drawn to look like bubbles. Was it flavored bantha milk?

“Is that what you would like to get?”

She looked up at Sifo-Dyas.

“Uh…yes,” she said. “Please.”

She followed him up to the cashier, who was tall with pointed ears, and was furred like a werewolf. They smiled at Sifo-Dyas.

“Master Jedi,” he said, to Sifo-Dyas, in a glass-cut RP accent. “As always, we appreciate your business.”

“Thank you, Zevon. It is a pleasure seeing you again.”

The werewolf glanced at Brin and smiled at her; she smiled back, reflexively if bewilderedly, and hurried after Sifo-Dyas when he started to leave.

“Are you friends with everyone?” she asked, cracking the can open. The milk inside was a pale teal color, which she eyed for a second, peering through the little hole. “Um…thank you, by the way.”

“That shop is well known to the Jedi,” he replied. “It is the closest one to the Temple. Zevon took it over after his father, Warrn, passed. Warrn owned the shop since I was a youngling. It was grandfathered in after Coruscant remade its zoning laws two hundred years ago. You’re very welcome.”

Brin paused and raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth—

And let it go. It was really starting to get to be too much for her.

It tasted like melon Ramune, only…milk.

* * *

 

*

The hostess, an attractive Mirialan woman with a spray of diamond tattoos across one side of her face, brightened immediately when they stepped inside. At first Brin wondered if she was just good at her job, then she spoke.

  “Master Sifo-Dyas! How nice to see you again! It has been a while, hasn't it?”

  “At least several months,” he replied warmly.

  “Is it just you then? I don't see Master Dooku with you.”

  “Myself and this one, please,” he said, turning slightly and stepping to the side to expose Brin, who was…not paying much attention.

  “The two of you?” the hostess asked, surprised. She turned her eyes to Brin.

  “Yes. Brin has never had Mirialan cuisine.”

  “I hope you like spice,” said the hostess to Brin. She smiled.

It took Brin a second. She had to tear her eyes from the hostess’ face.

  “Uh?—Yes. Spice. Spice is good. I like…spice.”

 _You are an embarrassment_. The hostess grinned at her. Was that pity or…?

“Lots of spice?” _Please just shut your mouth, Brianne_.

“I think she will be fine,” Sifo-Dyas said with a smile.

 _Please kill me and put me out of my misery_.

The hostess took them to a seat and sat them down, and handed them their menus. Brin made a point of not—

“I could introduce you?”

  Brin straightened up, horrified. She hissed, “Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare.”

  “Jaya is lovely. And single, I believe—”

 Brin made an inarticulate, frantic sound, waving her hands in a way that absolutely failed to be subtle. And why was he speaking at full volume, innocently, like he was discussing the weather?

“Shut up! _No!_ ” When he didn’t say anything more, she calmed. A little. “Anyway, I won't be here long enough for...any of that.”

  Sifo-Dyas left off with a shrug. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps nothing. I have a life back home. I’ve got bills, two cats, and a car payment. The longer I stay here, the longer the disappearance I have to explain gets. And until proven otherwise, this place doesn’t work like Narnia.”

“Not a wife?”

“No,” she snapped. “Drop it, would you? I’m not…”

“I wasn’t aware it was an issue at all. You simply seemed quite taken.”

Brin choked, and buried her nose in the menu until an appropriate amount of time had passed—but mostly Brin realized that it was hopeless. She could barely even read it, let alone knew up from down. “You’re going to have to order for me.”

“Jaya isn’t also the waitres—”

“ _Oh my god_ , no, that’s not the problem. I don’t know anything on the menu. I can’t even read it. Just please order for me. I don’t have any allergies and I do eat meat.”

“As you will.” He smirked, faintly, as he dropped his gaze to his own menu.

  She stared at him.

 _Okay, no._ This _is just too much_.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

She scowled at him, her brows knitted tightly together. _Of course, my Great Aunt Gertrude_.

“How the hell are _you_ friends with Dooku?”

Sifo-Dyas stared up at her for half a second, then sat back with an almost smug little smile, like he had just been betting with himself on how long she could hold off on asking. She decided to ignore it—very magnanimously, she thought.

“We were younglings together in the Temple, from the crèche to the Trials, and have been friends for as long as we can remember. Do you find him intimidating?”

Brin opened her mouth to say no, she didn’t find him intimidating, but having dealt with him for a while she thought he was a huge jerk who needed to get shoved off his high horse—but froze. She said the first thing that came to mind. “He…he’s _tall_.”

It sounded stupid when she put it that way. But she didn’t exactly know how to say _yeah, I guess I do find him really intimidating_. Well. Maybe she could’ve just used those words…

But that would mean admitting it. Out loud. Ew. Gross. Feelings.

“He uses that height to great effect,” Sifo-Dyas agreed. “I suppose we are friends because there is a great deal of mutual respect.”

Brin blew a raspberry. “Oh. Well. That explains why he hates me as much as he does. _Zero_ respect.”

Sifo-Dyas’ eyebrows shot up. “Yan does not hate you. The idea.”

“Nah, he hates me,” she said, shrugging. “It’s not a big deal, it’s not like we need to be friends or anything. He puts up with me because I’m useful, and the rest of the time he ignores me until I do something he doesn’t like. He sure as hell didn’t drag me all the way to Coruscant for the pleasure of my company.”

Sifo-Dyas said nothing, though the concerned look on his face lingered as she picked up the menu again. Even the words she could transliterate made no sense.

“But really. You _are_ going to have to order for me,” she said, putting it down in final defeat. “I don’t know anything. I do love spicy food, though.”

“Do you respect him, Brianne?”

She looked up again, startled both at the question and, for the moment, at a loss. The use of her given name irritated her, particularly since he’d taken such care not to, so far—but he clearly thought it was a serious thing.

“Do I respect him? What kind of question is that?”

“Do you hold respect for him? As a—well, _do_ you?”

She snorted. “Does it matter?”

“Not at all,” Sifo-Dyas said. “As you say, to accomplish your mission, it is not necessary. I ask because I’m curious—and it seems obvious to me that you and he have serious differences. I’m merely trying to understand the dynamic.”

She thought a moment, bewildered and trying to figure out his angle. Then her stomach sank. She knew this argument, and she had always hated it. She proceeded carefully, to avoid the pitfalls she knew smart remarks would trip into.

“I can respect him,” she started. She paused, and thought a moment longer before she decided: “I do, actually. Respect him. But it’s...hard for me to like him—and I’m not going to let him treat me however he likes. However he thinks he's entitled to treat me. If he wants to take that for lack of respect, then that’s a _him_ problem, not a _me_ problem.”

“Did you feel the same way…?”

She waited, then asked, “On Serenno?”

“No. _Before_.”

She blinked. “Before all this happened?”

“Yes. I mean exactly that. How did you feel about Yan in the context of a fiction?”

Surprised, Brin set the menu down and thought a moment. The question was oddly difficult, as well as unexpected. Dooku had never really quizzed her on her own home turf, and the Council certainly hadn’t. Sifo-Dyas was the first person who hadn’t shied away from it uncomfortably, conscious or otherwise. 

“I didn’t really have much of an opinion on him, to be honest. My favorite characters—well, they’re not really around yet. I don’t think most of them have been born, in this time. I guess I liked him—he was an interesting villain. Kind of underutilized, but the prequels were like that, for a lot of reasons. That’s probably the best way of explaining it—I didn’t dislike him, but I thought he was an interesting villain.

“Respect, though—that came here. It’s part of his character, but I can still tell he’s an intelligent and capable person. You know, his eyes never went Sith-yellow? Despite what happened to him, and the horrific things he did, there was always some part of him that was trying to change the galaxy for the better, and he had to believe that or else his eyes would have changed. It was never about personal pursuit of power for him alone, the way it was for Palpatine. It’s not exactly a rhetorical extreme and some people would fault me for that because they want to pick a hill to die on, but I always did like nuance better. I guess that was what was interesting about him to me.

“I guess I can see sort of see where he’s coming from and I can respect that, even if the things he did as a Sith were evil. But, he, like as a person, is _not_  easy to get along with, and we just…don’t see eye to eye a lot.

“He doesn’t like me, and there’s really no chance he ever will. But, so what? I don't need to be liked. Who wants to go through life needing people to like you?”

*

An ingratiating smile lingered on Palpatine’s face under the shimmering lights, designed to simulate an underwater atmosphere. He pretended not to notice the faint flicker of holo-photography in the near distance, to the left of the podium, standing where his aides had put him: in the backdrop behind Aae Locist, who had been appointed as interim Senator from Naboo by Queen Amidala after Palpatine had been elevated to the office of Chancellor. Beside Locist stood a representative of Boss Nass.

These events were tedious, but were, every single one, an opportunity.

Though he kept himself looking alert, he only half listened to the speech; it was uninspired and uncomplicated, much like Locist himself. Events during the invasion of Naboo had shown that the two cultures were able to work together. Through this show of Gungan artwork in one of the largest museums on Coruscant, ties between the Gungans and the Naboo were strengthened. There would be increased visibility of Gungan interests. Renewed collaboration. Cultural enrichment. Etcetera, etcetera. It was all very ordinary, but so _appealing_.

The important part was that the gullible fools that filled the gallery listened and were entranced—and they were. It was important that they believed they had come to some great realization. With standing room only, they stood gazing with upturned faces, listening to words which filled their hearts and minds with warmth and hope for a better future in the galaxy. They felt a desperately reaching satisfaction at their own enthusiasm, expressed a mealy, self-effacing surprise that it hadn’t occurred to them until today to notice or take interest in the Gungans or their isolation—they were certainly, if momentarily, engaged—and showed gratitude and admiration towards those who had made it possible to publicly reinforce their own enlightenment.

Gratitude and admiration channeled directly to himself, as without his initiative and interest, this exhibition would not have received such a prestigious stage. All concerned were well aware of his involvement—and they saw in him a source of receptive interest. Someone receptive to creating their glorious future.

Yes, he would remain interested—and they would look to him for future patronage. See him as supportive of their interests.

As Senator he had remained abreast of both domestic issues on Naboo, and those on Coruscant; as Chancellor he would be in a better position to gauge the political climate of the Republic at large, but the ultimate purpose and method were the same: the current.

Reaching the Chancellorship had required delicate maneuvering. Not only had it been necessary to bring about a crisis in government to engender a vote of no confidence, but he had to create circumstances in which he would be nominated and elected Chancellor, and that was not something that could be accomplished overnight—not if he wanted his base to constitute anything more long-lasting than whim.

Time and patience, and a hundred-thousand little nudges, adjustments, and public appearances would build his Empire, like cutting a river across eons. The recent loss of Darth Maul was of no serious concern; he was outliving his usefulness anyway. Palpatine would soon have another, more powerful apprentice at his side—one well capable of fielding the acumen and ability necessary to foment a serious challenge to the Republic. The Count had a strong set of ideas on how the galaxy should operate; Dooku’s perspective, however, remained of a sort with limited application. He would need to be disposed of in the end. The real prize—

Time and patience. He took great personal pleasure in it—this careful orchestration. The individuals within its web scurried about, so earnest, so ignorant, and so _vulnerable_ , unaware as they were of the threads tightening silkenly but inexorably around their throats. What would the ash taste like on the Coruscanti air, as the Jedi Temple burned?

Palpatine briefly let a genuine flicker of anticipatory self-satisfaction show; an observer would mistake it for anything to do with Locist’s speech, or the general purpose for this event.

A small tremor in the Force pulled his attention back to the present. He did not sense danger, precisely; rather, an _incipience_. Something…unexpected.

He hated unexpected.

Still, there was nothing to be done. He had to continue to stand where he was and passively wait for it to come to him as he smiled at these dimwitted flatterers, the idle rich and the bureaucratic elite. No one could see any sign that anything was amiss.

He saw the robe out of the corner of his eye but pretended he had not.

 _Jedi_. And they—because it _was_ ‘they,’ he now could sense that much, knowing that Jedi were here for some unknown reason—were being quite subtle, taking up positions around the gallery.

What were they doing, he wondered? He had been notified of nothing, and it was a customary courtesy to his office to do so before a public act such as this.

There was a disturbance at the back of the crowd. He could see and hear a quiet shift as people murmured to each other and moved out of the way.

Two Jedi, proceeding directly through the throng; he turned his head just slightly, sensing the one creeping closer to his left, behind the podium and the curtains. Another approached from the right.

The two before him were well known. Palpatine continued to gaze right back at them, smiling, although he knew very well—and it was with a growing sense of hostile suspicion—that he realized that the Jedi’s attention was focused on himself. _Why_.

Although improbable, it was not _impossible_ that Dooku stood there beside Mace Windu. It was more aggravating than anything else, but more importantly, Palpatine also knew that Dooku had nothing on him that was particularly damning. He was close, but not _ready_. Unless Dooku had extrapolated…

No. There was no _reason_ for Dooku to have turned on him, at least not to a degree that would have him standing before him wearing that closed, determined stare, nothing like the one he had worn during their last conversation. Having set all the conditions and put them into motion, Palpatine had anticipated a swift interim without an apprentice. He knew where Dooku was in his own mind.  _So why was he there_.

The simplest and most likely explanation, of course—provided he set aside assumptions about what he would like to be true—was that something had happened to derail Dooku’s self-propelled trajectory. But to that end, what was that something? _How?_ What exogeneity had he failed to account for? Palpatine refused to believe it was because he had made an error in judgement, underestimated the man’s attachment to the Jedi.

An unknown.

The idea curled in his gut, hot and sharp. It was not pleasing. Whatever it was, _how dare it interfere with his plans_ —he would find it, no matter how long it took, and slaughter it, and delight in its annihilation, this inconvenience to him.

“Master Jedi,” said Locist, audibly startled as he trailed off, gazing down at Mace Windu. “What an unexpected honor.”

Mace Windu glanced at Locist, frowning intently, before turning his eyes back to Palpatine. Windu’s glower slid off Palpatine’s pleasant mien, which reflected little more than a polite curiosity. Everyone else fell silent, confusion and attention riveted in equal measure.

He stood waiting. They were there for him—and slowly, the whole gallery came to realize that fact.

Anticipated floated in his blood like a drug. It sang in the Force—

“Chancellor Palpatine,” Windu said, in a ringing, firm voice as he gazed directly at him. “You are under arrest, on charges of treason and conspiracy to overthrow the Republic.”

It was a surprise—a true one.

There was silence for a full three seconds. It took Palpatine all of two to come to a decision, to whirl swiftly through the holo-roll of contingencies in his mind and slide to a stop.

His mouth twitched benignly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END
> 
> OR IS IT
> 
> On the bright side now that all of my shit was deleted, Palpatine’s perspective has apparently decided to make a sooner appearance than I remember it making in the initial plot plan. It’s also given me an opportunity to wrap this shitshow up a little more tightly, with better defined arcs, and better appearances from other characters. So. Um. Silver linings?
> 
> I'd warn for possible OFC/OFC but...um, well unfortunately, that's not a big part of this fic.
> 
> They're releasing a Dooku comic. I'm so f'in excited. :3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck I have to apologize for this chapter, too. I’m going to be doing a lot of that…
> 
> They say you’re supposed to write what you want to see-and what I want to see is a political shitshow, emphasis on the politics because you know, that was kind of a huge part of the prequels that just kind of got glossed over because, though I do love my Anidala, it's not as Exciting for some people. 
> 
> Palpatine is a manipulative bastard and his bit in this chapter is the entire reason I got the idea for this story. The spoken dialogue there is cribbed, with minor editing, from a scene in the Revenge of the Sith novelization that I’ve always found ridiculously fascinating. I just kind of added the rest of the story elements in to be a dick. Brin exists because I’m kind of addicted to OC fics and “getting sucked into one’s PS2.” So I thought, why not? Let’s combine the concepts and toss them in a blender, and see what kind of heretical smoothie comes out.

“The Jedi are arresting the Chancellor?” Brin said, looking up at the waitress and barely managing to swallow back a mouthful of what tasted kind of like coconut curry before she choked. “What, like, they’re going to go arrest him _now?_ Like…just like that?”

Well, Mace Windu and the others had run off to arrest him as soon as Anakin had said it was Palpatine, on just as much…right? She wasn’t a Jedi, though. _No, but you came with Dooku, and_ he _vouched for you until Yoda got inside your head and then Yoda green-lighted it_. Still, it seemed…really _quick_.

“No, they’ve already arrested the Chancellor. He’s in custody now.”

"He just went along with it? He _let_ himself be arrested?”

“The Chancellor is an old man!” the waitress exclaimed. “Stars, he could never fight a Jedi! I don’t know what’s happened, but I hope it’s resolved quickly. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”

Sifo-Dyas said, “The Chancellor is in Jedi custody as of this moment? You are certain?”

Their waitress looked at him. “Yes, Master Jedi—well, they’ve only just arrested him. It’s all over the holos.”

Brin looked between Sifo-Dyas and the waitress twice. “Okay, well…has anyone made a statement or something?”

“The Chancellor spoke a little before he was arrested, but there hasn’t been an official statement, no.”

“Well, what did he say?”

Sifo-Dyas stood up quickly. “Brin, remain here—May I see your holo?”

“Of course, Master Jedi,” the waitress said. “It’s in the back office.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Brin protested, as Sifo-Dyas stood and followed the waitress. She scrambled after him. “I want to see, too!”

The back office was through the kitchen. The people inside were all standing still, looking confused and stunned, and Brin shoved herself inside with Sifo-Dyas, the waitress, and four other workers.

Brin watched and listened to the news. No one had made an official statement, although she did catch a flash of Palpatine’s benevolent face standing next to an uncertain Gungan, a dopey-looking human, and a male Twi’lek Jedi on a stage somewhere. The basic sense she got was of profound confusion.

Brin crossed her arms, and frowned at the holo screen.

This…wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This didn’t make sense.

Then she realized it wasn’t like she had any real idea about how this was _Supposed To Go_. When the endgame to all this played out in her head, it just…kind of fell flat. 

If pressed, she would have shrugged and said there would be an epic battle. Something with fireworks. People in _Star Wars_ resolved problems by jumping in ships and blowing something up, or had epic lightsaber battles. Something that ended with a medal ceremony. As far as her part in all this, she thought of herself mainly as something like a...tourist, but like that guy in _Jurassic World_ that took a dive while clutching a margarita. _Maybe not the best analogy, since people are always get eaten in those movies_.

This? This didn’t make sense.

Giving up could not be the behavior of the same man who had whirled into a 970˚ from a prone position, cackling, and cut down multiple Jedi—but _it had to be_. Brin shivered. This wasn't an epic fight, this was a political tinderbox. People were already complaining on the Senate floor.

She blinked. Hadn't a major part of the prequels been politics? Wasn't that a major reason TPM was panned? It was all about trade rights and space C-SPAN? Brin let that roll around in her head a little bit, and scratched at the side of her mouth.

 _So it's politics?  No; how is that possible? It couldn't be. But if it is, what is Palpatine’s angle?_ What did he get out of letting himself be arrested? Why would he let that happen? Wasn’t that ten steps backwards? Was he capable of letting that happen? Not one thing came to mind. She couldn't make sense of it. She doubted she had it right of it to begin with. Probably, this wasn't really politics at all, Palpatine just hadn't...had the chance to escape? She knew events and actions, but she couldn't claim to know very well what any of it meant, and if this were politics, then surely someone smarter than her would be saying something.

Sifo-Dyas turned his head. He was standing near enough beside her that he would have felt her tremble.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine."

"Tell me."

"It's nothing, really."

"Tell me what you're thinking, Brin."

“This is, this is wrong.” Her head felt like she was spinning her wheels in mud, just digging in deeper with every second. "Are they—Are they sure they’ve got the right person?” It sounded like such a stupid question, and such stupid things to say, and some people in the office made faces exactly to that effect, including Jaya (who Brin only just then noticed), but Sifo-Dyas wasn’t laughing. “I mean, it’s not like he’s ever had a doppelganger, but…this...I don't understand.”

“I, too, have a bad feeling about this,” Sifo-Dyas admitted quietly, his expression taut. “We should return to the Temple.”

“Yeah, alright,” Brin mumbled. “Let’s go.”

Sifo-Dyas paid and they left. This level didn’t quite have the seedy, Blade Runner-esque atmosphere of the Coruscant Underworld. There were plants lining the breezy, bright, half-shaded avenue. People walked past going both ways, oblivious. Did nobody get Breaking News texts, here? When he directed her off the street they had taken to come here, Brin assumed that he was taking a shortcut or a more direct way and went along without comment. When she found herself in an industrial, isolated back alleyway, and he reached out, touching her elbow as he stopped, she staggered back around and looked at him.

“What?” she asked. “Is something wrong?” She knew nothing like the Inquisitors existed in this time, but Brin was still somehow worried that he sensed _somebody_. Maybe it was irrational, but she had recently developed a relaxed definition of the word _possible_ , and today was apparently a day for impossible things.

“I had planned to ask this question at a better moment,” he admitted bluntly.

“Okay? Ask what?”

“Who was it that commissioned the clone army? Where did it come from? You’ve mentioned its existence, even a great war fought with clones serving under Jedi, but you’ve never mentioned their origin.”

“Kamino,” she said. “They were cloned on Kamino.”

“ _Kamino_ ,” he repeated, relaxing ever so slightly, “Yes, but who commissioned the clones?”

She paused, opened her mouth—

“Well—I don’t remember,” she admitted. “Obi-Wan, er, Kenobi went there, but I mostly just remember him looking rather confused and going along with it. They were expecting him. He went there looking for a—for a bounty hunter. Jango Fett. But the Kaminoans said that they were _expecting_ him; or, _a_ Jedi, at least. It confused him. I just remember him being confused about the whole thing, and…I don’t know, it was weird. It was kind of one of those things that kind of happened quickly. He went along with it.”

“And nothing was ever mentioned of whoever commissioned the clones?”

“Maybe,” she replied apologetically. “It’s possible. It’s been _years_ since I saw that one, so I’ve forgotten a lot of the details. It took me a few times going around to even get the order right when Dooku asked me about it—whether Obi-Wan went to Geonosis or Kamino first. If they were mentioned, it was probably in passing. Quick.” She snapped her fingers. “It’s possible Palpatine commissioned them, but I can’t remember anyone making a big deal about it, and I think that would have registered with me if they had. It would have been in _The Clone Wars_ or something. I never really finished that one, but I got the main points along the way.” She felt kind of guilty and weird talking about the show like this. Dooku had never liked it; he seemed most comfortable when she avoided explicit references to any show, and stuck to facts as if she were talking about Roman _limes_. "Oh, and Kamino had been erased from the Archives. That happened, too."

"Kamino was  _erased_ from the Archives? Are you certain?"

"Yep. 100%. It kind of got turned into an Occam's Razor moment."

"When was it erased? By whom? Palpatine?"

"No clue." She shrugged.

Sifo-Dyas was quiet for several seconds. “The Chancellor did not commission the clone army.”

Brin stared at him. “He didn’t? How do you know?”

“It was _I_ who commissioned the clone army from the Kaminoans.”

If Brin had expected some ray of sunshine to go pouring into some dark corner of her mind, she was sorely disappointed. She didn’t have anything to say, so she just waited anxiously for Sifo-Dyas to go on.

“Not too long ago, I experienced a vision: a cataclysmic war befalling the galaxy. The Jedi are a mere ten thousand against the many quintillions they serve to protect; although I brought my concerns to the Council, they were dismissive.”

“Did the Council know you went to Kamino?” Brin experienced a startled, unexpected surge of anger—they had treated _her_ like shit when Sifo-Dyas had told them about a war—

“The Council had no knowledge of my mission. I undertook it alone, in secret.”

She frowned and crossed her arms. That didn’t actually make it better; they had heard from Sifo-Dyas and then they _still_ didn’t take her seriously…“Well. They won’t hear about it from me.”

“The Council can at times seem…discouraging,” Sifo-Dyas said, diplomatically. “But they are not the enemy. They—”

“Discouraging? Really? That’s the word you choose? They’re up their own ass. What would they do if they knew you had commissioned the clones? To you? _Do to you_ if they knew, I mean? _English_ , damn it, Self. That rhymed. Fuck. _You know what I mean_.”

“I would face an inquiry and possibly censure, but—”

“And kick you out, right? Expel you?”

Sifo-Dyas gave a wry smile. “No. I would not be expelled.”

She stared at him for half a heartbeat, and then she scoffed.

“They were going on about Anakin like…”

Brin turned away a moment, crossing her arms tightly as she ordered herself and her thoughts. She turned back to him, raising one hand by her head and stretching out her fingers in an exasperated gesture. She slapped the back of that hand into the palm of her other one.

“The Council has a huge problem with double standards.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Council was ready to kick Anakin out, and they might still do it, but neither you or Dooku are apparently going to get in any shit. _He_ came _this close_ to becoming a Sith Lord, and you went behind their backs. They didn’t say _shit_ to him in that Council room, and he nearly actively contributed to deep-sixing the whole fucking circus _right now_ , not fifteen years from now.”

Sifo-Dyas looked at her patiently, but intractably—Brin wasn’t having any of it.

“What is the difference,” she said firmly. “Not that I want you punished, because I don’t, and I don’t want Dooku in trouble either, really. I don’t want Anakin punished. The point is you’ve _done_ something and Dooku _almost_ did something! Anakin Skywalker hasn’t done _anything_ and he’s the one they’re talking about getting rid of!”

“The Council is resolved to expel the boy?”

Brin frowned. “Well I—I don’t know. To be… _entirely_ fair. They kicked me out in the middle of the conversation.”

“Then you do not know their decision.”

Brin stared at him and her hackles rose—and then collapsed on their brittle pretensions. It sounded far too much like past conversations with other people.

 _I can’t possibly know because I don’t know what I’m talking about, is that it_ —

“Right. Okay. I get it: _Brin, you’re being a pest, be quiet_. You’re nicer about it than Dooku, so—points for that, at least.”

“The Council is not your enemy, and neither am I,” Sifo-Dyas said. “Nor is Yan. You must understand—”

She was tired of arguing. _So_ tired. She was tired of everything, honestly. Her home life wasn’t nearly this exciting. She didn’t argue this much with _anyone_ —except maybe over Thanksgiving, and Brin _hated_ visiting relatives during the holidays. She stayed drunk for most of that time, too—and was taken less than seriously as well, come to think of it. Well, it wasn’t quite so simple, there. Brin narrowed her eyes and shelved the thought for a moment.

“I didn’t say you were my enemy, and I know that—but you can’t claim understanding equals agreement,” she shot at him. “At that point every understanding is equally separate and separately equal! The only question is which understanding is the one to have!” Did that make sense? Fuck it, maybe she was still a little impaired. She had thought getting food in her stomach might help. "Anyone who says otherwise is selling something."

“No,” Sifo-Dyas sighed. “To understand an argument, it is not necessary to agree with it. And yet neither you nor I know what their final decision is.”

“The fact that it’s even seriously on the table is disturbing.”

“Do not be too quick to condemn the Council for considering an option.”

“But—”

“It is only an option,” Sifo-Dyas said.

“An option, sure, I guess. But not a serious option. It shouldn’t seriously _be_ on the table at all!”

He raised his eyebrows at her.

“It _shouldn’t_.”

“All options must be given their equal consideration.”

“Yeah? That’s how crazy bullshit happens. You can say _well it’s just another option_ , but when it’s based in a fucked-up outlook, _like double standards_ , then the fucked-up option is all the more likely.”

He considered her for a few seconds.

“You sound as if you speak from experience,” he observed, apparently somewhat surprised.

“Do I?” Brin grimaced. “ _Really_. You know, I’m not just some blank slate that washed up on Dooku’s back porch. I had a life before I got here.” 

Sifo-Dyas seemed to study her a moment longer. “Do you endorse, instead of democratic deliberation…some more _streamlined_ form of decision making?”

Brin’s temper flared, and she turned a offended glower on Sifo-Dyas. “Really? You’re going to trot that nuke out? _No_. That’s not what I’m saying at all! I am not for ‘one smart person making all the decisions quickly.’ That’s even more fucked, and people who say those kinds of things aren’t thinking further than their nose. And, for the record, do you want me to tell you _why_ I think so?

“Democratic institutions _are_ slow, but they disaggregate authority and survive individuals, and provide a reliable, stable process that keeps society operating and slows down people who want to break them. Institutions are more stable, and more powerful than any individual—for the record, not even Palpatine dared try to control them until he had created widespread support for himself within the system.

“They fight back unless you have them by the balls, which no leader ever should have because _that_ is a sign of dysfunction. No, I like democratic deliberation, even though it’s slow.

“What I _hate_ is inequity in the system that leads to bad decision making, and decision making by council, which isn’t itself _bad_ , is even _more_ vulnerable to that possibility because after a while, it’s really up to whoever pushes it to the point a decision _has_ to be made and makes the best snazzy argument. Democracy has flaws, but it is good. I don’t want autocracy. I don’t think there’s some mythical guiding light out there that tells a cult leader what to do and it will all turn out alright. So, _there_.”

After several seconds, he sighed. “I agree that expulsion would create difficult circumstances.”

Brin deflated a little, watching him closely and agitatedly. Was he placating her, or…?

“Still, the Council will take due consideration of all possible outcomes and make their decision based on that estimation.”

“ _Which_ —”

“I acknowledge that you are deeply concerned,” Sifo-Dyas interrupted calmly. “And that you feel you have good reasons for that concern. But I have long experience with the Council and particularly with the way they make decisions, and I do not anticipate that they will decide upon expulsion. That would be an extreme choice, and one which could even bring the possibility of danger to the Republic.”

“You don’t _expect_.” Brin sighed loudly in frustration. “You don’t _know_. What about this entire situation is expected? What about it is normal?”

“I do not know what will happen,” Sifo-Dyas agreed mildly. “I also feel, however, that you are not giving the Council its due credit. Expulsion has far too many possible dangers. The Council must know that and acknowledge it. What is far more within the realm of possibility is that steps will be taken to keep the boy from direct contact with the Sith Lord.”

“ _That’s fine_ ,” she said. “If that’s what they do. That makes sense. But they were talking about expulsion and the rest as if it were an acceptable risk.” She wrinkled her nose. “Anakin’s not evil. The whole thing was a complete tragedy even…even the way it happened. It was something that didn’t need to happen.

“And even if they don’t choose expulsion, that still doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s being thrown under the bus while you two are getting a pass. Not that—Not that I _want_ you guys screwed over, really, but it’s just not right!”

“The Council is familiar with myself and Yan,” Sifo-Dyas reminded her. “They have long experience. The boy, however, is relatively unknown. I trust that the Council will make the best possible decision after they have considered all aspects of the issue.”

“I don’t trust large groups of people to always make great decisions,” Brin snorted. “Just to make decent ones, most of the time. As long as no one's jumped off the deep end. Which, by the way, doesn't actually negate anything I already said about democracy. It’s the fucking Henry the Eighth thing all over again—And how isn’t that just an excuse for being biased?”

“Henry the Eighth?”

“It’s not important.” Brin threw up her hands. “Except that he might be one of the list of reasons why you don’t want an all-powerful narcissist running a country. You know what, never mind. This conversation is going nowhere. I want to get back to the Temple. I want to go home.”

Sifo-Dyas frowned. “I’m not sure—”

“Even if it’s not, whatever happens now isn’t anything I can help with. We’re off the edge of the map. Here there be dragons, or space-whales, or some shit. Dooku agreed: I go with him to Coruscant, I tell the Council things, _they_ deal with Palpatine. That was the deal. I do that, he takes me back to Serenno, and I go home. That’s it. It’s all y’all’s problem. I did my part. And don’t worry, I’ll shut up and keep my opinions to myself from now on.”

Definite worry creased Sifo-Dyas’ face even further, but he nodded.

“We should return to the Temple,” he said. “Quickly.”

* * *

 

 

*

She saw Dooku at the far end of the hall in the midst of a group of Jedi. He was easy to recognize: easily taller than practically anyone standing nearby and wearing that brown cape, the only real difference was the head of steel-gray hair instead of the white it would be in ten years.

“There he is,” she announced. She pointed.

“Go and join him,” Sifo-Dyas said.

“Um—What, walk over there by myself?”

“I’m sure you’re quite capable of walking alone, you’re perfectly safe inside the Temple." He smiled at her, almost wryly. She didn't smile back. "I need to check the Archives. I’m sure Yan won’t mind you walking unescorted for a hundred yards.”

“Uh…sure. Okay. One hundred yards unescorted. Will do.” _He’s going to hate it._ Brin might have said something, but Sifo-Dyas was already leaving. She winced at his back.

Brin turned back to the hallway and started to walk towards the group.

The return had been much less amicable than the walk to the restaurant, and mostly silent, though Sifo-Dyas had in any case been just as polite as ever. Brin had adjusted to the idea that Dooku didn’t and would never like her, but there was a two-way antagonism there that generally numbed any feelings of guilt.

Whatever ill feelings Sifo-Dyas had for her were entirely her fault. He’d gone out of his way to be nice. So were the consequences—both in terms of having been rude to Sifo-Dyas and having made him dislike her, and in the response Dooku would give when he learned she had made a pill of herself.

As Brin approached the group, she didn’t know what she was going to say or do. In the absence of a plan she was going to have to do exactly what she always did—do a belly flop and hope the pain wasn’t too bad.

Any fascination she might have felt at seeing so many different species was blunted by the immediate onset of even more anxiety: that was a lot of people, and a lot of people she didn’t know. Some of them were Jedi, most of them were clearly not. They wore glittering robes and headdresses, and there were smaller people lingering behind them, looking unobtrusive and plain but efficient. _Aides_ , she realized. Were they Senators? Maybe…rich, in any case.

Brin eyed Dooku and the fancy people around him warily, and chose to keep to the edge of the whole group where she could keep an eye on him and look for an opportunity to cozy up in the shadow cast by his elbow. It was obvious that she didn’t fit, and she noticed that some people, the ones who weren’t Jedi, glanced at her with a kind of bemused, patronizing curiosity—then let their eyes slide right back to the people around them who were actually important.

One of the people Dooku was speaking with was noticeably taller than he was, but only because of a loud velvet headdress more or less in the shape of a Wisconsin Cheesehead hat with yellow stone beads curtaining the sides. Their dress was wide, mostly ruffles, and made of saffron taffeta and brocade. The woman wearing it had a piercingly shrill, tittering laugh. _Can she sit down in that? Can she eat in that?_

Dooku glanced over his shoulder, and saw her standing there. His expression tightened slightly and he stayed put, as if telling her silently to _get over here_ ; Brin wasn’t about to attempt to insert herself into that conversation circle. Absurdly, she half wanted to run when, after a few more rounds of exchange, he excused himself genteelly from his conversation and made his way over.

“Hi,” she managed. “What’s up? You know, you didn’t have to cut it off early. I’m doing fine over here. The people-watching is top shelf.”

Something in his expression told her not many people had the nerve to ask him _what’s up_ in his life, let alone in public and in earshot of his peers.

“Where is Master Sifo-Dyas?”

“Hello to you, too,” she quipped. “He said he had something to look up in the Archives. So…my money’s on the Archives.”

“What information is he searching for?”

“I didn’t ask. Probably Jedi Business. In other words—none of mine.” _Ouch, that came out a little bitter. Dial it back a smidge_.

He accepted that, miraculously. “I trust that you behaved yourself?”

“Weeell...” _Rip it off like a band-aid. Maybe he’ll be less pissed if you don’t lie to his face_. “In the spirit of full disclosure, in good faith: I…argued a little? Okay, I argued? I got…kind of snippy. I didn’t mean to, I just…got upset.”

His expression went _very_ flat.

“Surely you have not managed to find more alcohol in the last hour. _Surely, you did not insist that Sifo-Dyas buy you alcohol_.”

“Uh, no? I didn’t ask; do you think he would have?” _Damn it, Brin, now is not a good time_. It was hard, though. “He bought me some milk. That’s all. Oh, and we went to get something to eat. I’m sure I said thank you…um, for the drink, at least. I kind of maybe…forgot to thank him for the food—but I was caught up, and…Look, I shouldn’t have snapped at him. It was my fault.”

“That is the least surprising thing you have ever said.”

Brin sucked on a tooth and looked down. “Fair enough,” she mumbled, with a grim look. She looked back up at him. “I wasn’t kidding, though—he said he had something to check in the Archives. I didn’t ask what it was, because I…well look, he told me to walk straight over to you, from the end of the hallway. I did that. I swear, I did exactly what I was told. Point A to Point B, no detours.” She gave a gesture with her hands, moved them from left to right, like picking something up and putting it back down. “Wasn’t even thirty seconds before you turned around.”

“Very well,” Dooku said, terse. “I will go and find him.”

“Lead the way.”

“You will not be accompanying me.”

“How come? Does the librarian lady not like visitors?”

He looked so offended and confused that she felt obligated to explain or risk even more trouble.

“Older lady, maybe about your age? Wears hair sticks? Doesn’t think it’s funny when you suggest the Archives are incomplete?"

“Jocasta Nu. You may refer to her as Madame Librarian.”

“Wait, really? That’s like her title?”

“Master Nu is Chief Librarian of the Jedi Archives.”

“…I read a book about librarians in Timbuktu, once. Pretty much convinced me that librarians are like Gryffindors that don’t need external validation.” It was the closest thing she could think of at the moment to a compliment but it clearly won her no brownie points. “Well, I guess they’re probably mostly Ravenclaws, to be honest.”

“Access to the Archives is restricted to authorized staff members, and Jedi,” Dooku said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “All other visitation requires prior approval.”

_And yet you’re allowed in. Let me guess, this is another holdover perk. How long does it take to get that prior approval? Who gets approval? Does it work like the Vatican Archives?_

Brin was really out of credit, here. She sighed.

“Alright,” she said. “You win. I won’t go with you to the Archives.”

He paused.

“Seriously. Let’s just go find a broom closet.”

* * *

 

*

The room was kind of like a smaller Council chamber but on the ground floor, off one of the large side-hallways like the one Sifo-Dyas had led her down to leave. Brin thought it looked like the room that Obi-Wan talked to Yoda in, with the kids. On the way, Dooku had found and spoken to a masked Temple Guard, who left at Dooku’s behest: he intended for her to stay here under guard, but the guards were not there yet. Brin sat down in a chair to wait; Dooku did not. _Seriously, they look good, but these chairs are_ not _comfortable_.

“So, um, just thought I’d ask—How soon you taking me back to Serenno? Tonight? Tomorrow?”

Dooku turned his head and gazed down at her, an utterly glacial cast to his features. Brin saw it, and almost lost her nerve—but there was only so delicate she could get without skirting the point too much. She settled for just sounding casually cheerful.

“That was the deal, remember?” she said. “I come with you to Coruscant, I do my bit, you take me back to Serenno. I figure it works out well for everyone: I get out of your hair and—”

“The matter is not settled.”

Her heart jerked with something not entirely unlike fear. “What—What do you mean it’s not settled? You literally arrested Palpatine. He’s not Chancellor anymore. How is it not settled? What am I supposed to _do_ , now that you’ve arrested him? It’s over! And second of all, there was _never_ anything said ab—”

“I will not waste my time explaining the situation to you.”

“Well could you _try_ , maybe? Because it sounds like you’re just welching—”

“I have been more than patient. _Be silent_.”

“ _No!_ ” she exclaimed. “You can’t just—”

Dooku turned towards her fully, so sharply that his heel squeaked on the polished floor, and his cape fluttered at his calves. As tall as he was, when he took two steps towards her, he loomed over her much smaller figure, and in the light, the vast majority of him appeared almost like a spectral shadow. His dark eyes appeared almost black. Brin pulled her knees up reflexively, shrinking back against the seat as her eyes got very wide. _Oh God, you’ve actually pissed him off._

“You said you would take me back to Serenno once I talked to the Council,” she insisted. “You don’t even want me here—”

“Would that the Force had sent anyone other than yourself. I have tolerated your outbursts and your disrespect. And you are correct in one thing—You have outlived your usefulness to me.”

He kept interrupting her. She had to wait a second for him to raise an eyebrow, and then she spoke. “So…what does that mean? You’re just not going to take me back to Serenno?”

He stared down at her contemptuously.

“But you agreed—”

“I will see that you return to Serenno—when this matter is conclusively settled. I am far too busy to return to Serenno myself.”

“Then just let me leave,” she begged. “Take me to the door and kick me out. You’ll never see me again, I swear. I can figure out how to get back to Serenno by myself.”

“The Council has expressed an interest in retaining you for a period of time, in order to more fully understand the circumstances surrounding the Sith Lord’s takeover of the Republic. They also wish to have a full account of your own universe. You will cooperate.”

“But that wasn’t the deal we made!”

“I am altering the deal. Do not give me cause to alter it further.”

Brin swallowed hard. It might have been funny, but it just wasn’t. She felt smacked down every time she opened her mouth, and yet she couldn’t just _break_ —

“You can’t just—”

“ _Can’t?_ I assure you, I am acting well within the limits of what I am _capable_ of. It is fortunate for you that I am not easily moved to act on my frustrations.”

 _Was that a threat? Shit_ —

“Since the moment you arrived, you have been nothing but a contemptible brat, utterly insensible to reason, a persistent aggravation, and ungrateful to the point that I wonder whether you have _any_ regard for others, or if everyone and everything around you is but mere entertainment meant for your personal gratification. I, however, will not entertain as _amusing_ the theft of my property, however glibly defined, or any other instance of ill-mannered insolence before or after. I will not have it.

“I have found frequent occasion to wonder how it is that even in spite of your unique situation, one such as yourself has even survived to adulthood, given how single-mindedly intractable you prefer to be. It seems to me that someone would have wished to put themselves out of their own misery and prevent others from the need to endure the same in the future.

“So far I have tolerated your behavior because it has largely been confined to myself—and as part of the burden I accepted when I insisted upon bringing you to Coruscant. I will _not_ tolerate the same kind of ill behavior directed towards anyone else. You will _not_ be given any further opportunity to cause trouble, I promise you that.”

Brin didn’t say anything. She held herself motionless with her face turned to the side and neck slightly bent away from him. She sat leaning her whole body away from him, and holding on to the arm rests for dear life. She could hear her blood in her ears, and she waited, unable to bring herself to move even to save her life, for whatever happened next. When push came to shove, he held all the cards. She went where he put her and she made it anywhere on his say-so.

She flinched when the door hissed open. For an irrational, almost out-of-body moment she had the idea that it was a lightsaber, although truth to tell she had never really feared him being the type to take a swing. Not even as a Sith had he seemed that prone to violence. As the Temple Guards stepped inside and Dooku turned to meet them, Brin struggled to stay where she was, to not start crying, to—

“You will remain here until someone is sent to retrieve you. You are to remain in the Temple, as a guest of the Jedi. I strongly suggest you refrain from your usual antics.”

Brin looked at him suddenly, tears forgotten.

“Where…where are you going to be?”

“I have made alternative arrangements.”

That cut, right through—

“Wait!” she cried, scrambling to her feet and hurrying after him. “Dooku, _wait!_ ”

He turned around again and flung a hand out—Brin skidded backwards, propelled until she finally collapsed backwards, overbalanced, to the ground. Despite everything it still took her a second to process that he’d actually pushed her, with the Force. When she managed to sit up, a little dizzy but unhurt aside from a banged elbow, the door was closed, and all was silent. There were no Temple Guards inside with her. Outside, the skylanes continued to flow in straight lines bisecting at right angles, trails of ants in the shadows of gleaming spires.

Brin looked around the circular walls of the room, feeling as if they were smaller than they looked, and drew a trembling breath.

* * *

 

*

The museum had been too public to act against the Jedi without irreparably damaging his own standing in the public’s regard, and the public's regard was still the single most important aspect of his plans. He had only just begun to sort the stage for the planned war.

As he faced the three Jedi in front of him, seated inside long-disused cells inside the Jedi Temple, Palpatine kept his fury packed away deep, where it afflicted neither his presence in the Force nor his blood pressure, a rise in which they would no doubt have also sensed. Instead, he presented the face of someone who was so assured that the problem was a mere misunderstanding that all he could do was sit there behind bars and smile, with patience and kindness.

“You are a Sith Lord,” Mace Windu said, bluntly. Beside him, the diminutive green Yoda stood watching him, pensively and intently. To the left of them both stood Saesee Tiin. “Do you deny it, _Chancellor?_ ”

This was a setback, but by no means a defeat. From a certain point of view, this was not even a setback. In many ways, this scenario had the definite potential to be even more useful to him than the manufacture of war in the long term, and the gradual discreditation of the Jedi. _Still,_   _I still must find out how they discovered the truth. I must see that it is crushed—or that it bends to my will_. 

“Am I?” he said, still smiling. “Even if true, that’s hardly a crime. My philosophical outlook is a personal matter. In fact—the last time I read the Constitution, anyway—we have very strict laws against this type of persecution. So I ask you: what is my alleged crime? That of being a Sith Lord? How do you expect to justify your actions before the Senate? Or do you intend to arrest the Senate, as well?”

Mace Windu scowled at him. “We will not argue with you.”

“No, but you have imprisoned me without trial. Without even the pretense of legality. What crime have I committed?

“You have no answer?” Palpatine was _still_ smiling. It amused him, privately, to watch that visible intensity etch itself ever deeper into Windu’s face with every passing moment. They had not mentioned even one specific action of his, not his direction of the Trade Federation during the Naboo incident, nor conspiracy. Nothing that could, legally speaking, be termed criminal behavior. “Well—I have but one thing to say, though it pains me to invoke this extremity. I had hoped that it would be possible to resolve this issue without resorting to such extremes."

“And what is that,” Windu demanded, not amused.

“I wish to speak with my lawyer. As a citizen of the Republic, I have that right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there are Sith containment cells in the Jedi Temple according to the cross sections. 
> 
> Guys, I try to average about 2k per chapter. Um. Fuck. This is only getting longer, per chapter. This dumbass chapter is already 6000 words, so…I swear to fuck guys. We’re on a schedule but that schedule is fucking with me. I warned you guys for “ridiculous amounts of chatting, and politics.” This story moves slowly. We’re still…on the schedule, but the details are moving around a little.
> 
> The next chapter will have lots and lots of Palpatine, the Jedi, Dooku and his BFF Sifo-Dyas, and the Senate. No Brin; we're taking a break from her and her Issues. In the next couple of chapters, we FINALLY get to see Obi-Wan and Anakin. Jesus. Don't worry guys, they have NOT been forgotten.
> 
> Space C-SPAN. Good shit.

**Author's Note:**

> Guys. GUYS. I actually wrote out a start-to-finish plot for this fic. I don’t just have a vague and sketchy set of plot points I want to hit! *guilty coughing*
> 
> Okay, so according to EU canon, Dooku pretty much went straight from Jedi to Sith Apprentice but Disney canon has him as going over according to some unspecified timeframe. I considered going with the EU canon because I could and there’s more of it to work with, and “unspecified timeframe” still encompasses 30 seconds, but…apparently he was really close with Palpatine before he left the Jedi. Yeah, we're gonna cover that territory. What, did you think this fic was going to be all about how weird Completely Ordinary Girl(TM) #11233333 (with brown eyes and mousy brown hair and an average figure) thinks the GFFA is? 
> 
> Imma go with a little more time ‘cause I want to explore Dooku’s state of mind. :D Want to know more? Keep reading. There are a few really fantastic fics out there about "going back in time and fixing shit" and most of the really good ones take the route of "a light hand at the right time." Yeah. Well...we're going to see how the other option goes--although I can't make any claims on how well I'll do this.
> 
> **Kind of a cute packaged aphorism that had been quoted in David Armitage’s Civil Wars: A History in Ideas, which is the book I actually read, lol. Good book, although I’m still looking for something that discusses the same concept, an overarching history of the idea, a historiography of civil war as it were, in any non-Western sense—and to be fair, Armitage does address that. He just says that there is no overarching text for any such broad discussion of the topic and it is a very broad topic which would’ve added volumes to the study besides. The first point makes me wonder if there is but this is a limitation by way of the fact it’s in Chinese or something.
> 
> WARNING: If you’ve ever read *literally anything else I’ve ever written,* you’d know that I pretty much write politics into everything. It’s a compulsion. BUT NOW WE’RE IN THE PREQUEL ERAomg get ready for some shenanigans. Ok but seriously, politics and the meaning of those little details are really important in this fic, so…um, please be patient. 
> 
> This fic is going to roll with decadently gratuitous amounts of bureaucracy and fuckery. This pleases me and I will giggle uncontrollably. You have been warned.
> 
> (I’ve really never done much writing most of the characters in this story before so please give me any constructive criticism you can think of. I’d appreciate it. Thanks!)
> 
> Honestly, I doubt anyone will ever really read it; it’s more of a niche fic than likely to have any wide interest. It’s not your typical romantic comedic adventure fic, but I’m sharing it on the off chance someone is interested. If you’re here, A) hello, and B) sorry not sorry.
> 
> (It’s also probably worth noting that the OC isn’t really the main voice in this fic. Most of the fics like it are all about the OC’s reactions to the world they find themselves in, and yes, that’s part of it, but I really just want to throw the board on the floor and see what happens).


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